Ain't No Rest For The Wicked
by Nautical Paramour
Summary: "You are already on the wrong side of the law, Miss Granger." Tom smirked at her, taking another drag from his cigarette, before leaning in towards her. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "If you are going to be bad, be good at it." Non-magical AU set in prohibition New Orleans. Tomione. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: hey guys! So this was originally a oneshot but I have been enjoying the kind of gangster/bad guy au recently, like with Over the Hills and Far Away that I decided to expand this. I have had a lot of inspiration from various places so I definitely want to call those out, specifically the show Peaky Blinders, the podcast Crimetown, and the book the Poisoner's Handbook. For instance, in this chapter, Tom's trial details come from Crimetown and mob boss Raymond Patriarca. Also, I am not a historian, so all of my research is pretty cursory. If any of you notice any glaring errors either for the time period or the location, please drop me a note!

I really hope you enjoy the story. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions! Please let me know what you thought of chapter one and be on the lookout for chapter two soon!

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New Orleans, 1921

To many, Hermione Granger was just an ordinary shop clerk, with an ordinary life. They didn't pay much mind to the girl who measured and weighed whatever it was that they were trying to buy when they came in to Ollivander's Pharmacy, a little shop nestled into a busy street. No, they were usually far too busy with their own issues to even realize that with a few grams of powder, she could kill them all if she wanted.

She never expected what her life was going to be like. She'd grown up in New Orleans, the daughter of a surgeon and her mother stayed at home with her. It had been a bit of a charmed life, until her mother killed herself in the bath. It had been a shock to Hermione, who had never seen any evidence that her mother was unhappy. Her father limped along for another year, before dipping into the habit of taking laudanum, leaving him a husk of the man he was before. He'd lasted another year after that, before he died himself, leaving Hermione a penniless orphan.

Being a teenage girl, she knew that the likely course of action was to find work in a brothel. It was quick money, but difficult work, and Hermione didn't think that she would take very well to it. She didn't _want_ to sell her body to anyone, but she wasn't sure that there would be any other options.

That was when Mr. Ollivander had swooped in. He was a kindly old man who ran a pharmacy, and he'd bumped into her at a bookshop once, while she was perusing a book on chemicals, the same book that he apparently needed. They got to talking, and before long, he had given her a job offer and an advance to set her up in a little flat while she worked for him. He promised her that he would teach her all her knew about chemicals and the like, and Hermione had jumped at the chance. She'd always enjoyed school and learning, but after she'd turned ten, her parents had pulled her from school, leaving it up to her father to give her instruction after work. She had always enjoyed reading through his anatomy books.

As it turned out, Hermione was quite apt at chemistry, and she'd settled into working at the shop quite easily. She had a very precise method, which Mr. Ollivander was thrilled about, because it meant no wasted product, especially considering that some of the chemicals and medicines were very expensive.

Before long, Mr. Ollivander was leaving her alone to run the shop by herself, in order to give himself some breaks, seeing as he _was_ getting older. Hermione was capable enough to fill prescriptions by herself and keep everything well stocked, she did well with the customers, and any spare time she had was spent pawing through Mr. Ollivander's books to read every bit of information she could about the different chemicals they were selling.

She could tell you just about every ingredient in Daffy's Elixir and how it worked to cure you of ailments of the stomach, and noticed that it was quite frequently prescribed with laudanum. She could describe the exact shade and consistency of tincture of opium when the drug was precisely so strong as to kill a grown man. She had studied the pictures of cherry red skin of someone who'd consumed a toxic dose of cyanide salts. And she could easily calculate the weight of arsenic needed to kill a person immediately or over a period of weeks. Hermione Granger knew about twenty methods to kill someone without detection, and all of them were right there at her fingertips in the pharmacy.

And it _fascinated_ her.

To know that she held so much power in her hands, and no one gave her a second glance, well, it was a bit intoxicating, to know what other people didn't. They would come in, get whatever it was that they wanted, and then forget her face forever. And she, well...she would go on learning as much as she could.

That day was much too hot for any particular study, though. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, sticky tendrils glued to the back of her neck thanks to too much humidity and sweat. The tiny fan that she had behind the counter with her was providing no relief except to move the stale air around the room, and rustle the pages of her paper in a comforting rhythm.

She was engrossed in the story of Tom Riddle Jr, who had been on trial for months for the murder of his father, who was a very wealthy man. It seemed as if the whole city had been fascinated with the trial, if only because of all the players involved. Tom Riddle Sr, the victim, had been a very wealthy man in charge of a shipping industry. Tom Riddle Jr had been given to an orphanage, despite his father's wealth, on account of the fact that he was born out of wedlock. Through the years, he'd gained a lot of notoriety for being a gangster. Half of the city thought he was scum, while the other half appreciated all the things that he did for the community - well known for sponsoring children's school fees, and buying Christmas turkeys for some of the poor.

Hermione thought that was probably just a well thought out publicity stunt, though, having been an orphan herself, she wondered if perhaps he honestly cared.

The breaking news today was that the defense had presented their star witness, who seemed to have an airtight alibi for Tom Riddle Jr. She understood that the witness was a priest by the name of Slughorn, who testified that Riddle had been with him at the time of the murder, in a completely different parish, for the baptism of Riddle's godson, a baby by the name of Lucius Malfoy. Slughorn told the court that it was impossible for Riddle to have committed the murder seeing as Slughorn had been with him the whole day, and that their hostess, Mrs. Abraxas Malfoy, would be able to corroborate that fact.

Hermione had snorted when she read that. Well, Riddle couldn't have found a better witness to give his alibi, in very French, very _Catholic_ New Orleans. She couldn't think of a jury alive that would doubt the word of a man of the cloth. She supposed that was exactly what had happened, too, seeing as Riddle was acquitted by the jury not long after Slughorn gave his testimony, and was allowed to leave the courthouse a free man.

Pity that the newspaper didn't print any photographs - from every description of him, it sounded as if Tom Riddle was a very handsome man.

Shaking her head, Hermione noticed the time, and finally put her paper away. Just because they hadn't been particularly busy that day did _not_ mean that she would complete some of the orders that they had put in. Pulling out the big book of orders, Hermione opened up to where she left off, her fingers running down the page over Mr. Ollivander's neat handwriting until she found the next open order. It looked like Hepzibah Smith's monthly iodine tincture was needed.

Hermione turned and ran her fingers over all of the neatly labels, smiling at the brightly colored glass until she found the iodine salts that she was looking for. Placing a thin piece of paper down on the scale, she re zeroed it carefully, before opening the bottle and carefully pouring out the required quantity, filled with a sense of satisfaction when she found it nearly balanced on her first try. She made her correction before picking up the paper and pouring the salt into the liquid, mixing the two together furiously, until it made a dark brown liquid that always managed to stain her fingers. Hermione poured that into the bottle before restoppering it and labeling it for pick up the next morning.

She worked the way down the list, keeping meticulous notes for Mr. Ollivander to review, unbothered, until she noticed that she had a customer. Hermione looked the other woman up and down. "Hello, can I help you with something?" She asked delicately. While Mr. Ollivander's was a well respected shop, this woman looked like she would probably have a private doctor.

Her blonde hair was perfectly curled in huge rolls, perfectly coiffed and pinned, covered by a small hat, and a tiny veil. Her clothing was certainly well tailored, a slim fitting skirt and blouse that complimented the woman's rosy skin tone. She lifted a glove hand to raise the veil from her face, and spoke from red painted lips. "Hello, yes, are you Miss Granger?" She asked, looking rather nervous.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the woman, wondering just what business this rich (surely) woman could possibly have with _her_. "Yes, I am," she confirmed quietly, before setting down her pen and crossing her arms defensively.

Once her identity was confirmed to the blonde woman, Hermione could see her shoulders sag in relief, as though a weight had been lifted from her. "Wonderful," she said dispassionately. "You see, you came well recommended to me by my friend, a Mrs. Susan Smith. I have a...little problem that she thought you could help me with." The woman looked up at her, and underneath her perfectly made up face, Hermione began to see the cracks of her facade. Just below powder, you could make out the shadow of a dark bruise on her eye.

Hermione felt her stomach sink, when she realized just what she was asking. When Hermione had agreed to help Susan Smith poison her husband, she had promised herself that it was going to be a one time thing, never to be repeated. Honestly, Hermione couldn't believe that she'd actually agreed to help Susan in the first place, except for that it was clear that she was a battered woman, and that her husband wouldn't stop hurting her until he was gone. Hermione was still haunted by the look of her split lip…

She gave the woman a regretful look. "I'm sorry Mrs.?" She inquired after the woman's identity.

"Oh, how silly of me!" She said, extending a hand. "Mrs. Daphne Pucey." She shook Hermione's hand graciously.

"Mrs. Pucey, I am sorry, but I am sure that I cannot help you with your little issue," Hermione told her feeling rather awful. Hermione had always thrived on helping people when she could.

Daphne looked crestfallen by her pronouncement. "But, you see, my husband...and Susan was positive that you'd be able to help me, the same way that you helped her."

Hermione smiled sadly. "It's just...it was a one time thing when I helped Susan." She nibbled on her lower lip. Even though she felt horrible to know that Daphne was having marital issues, Hermione did not want to get a reputation as some kind of murderess. Just because she knew how much arsenic would kill a man didn't mean that she wanted to go around abetting murder. That wasn't the kind of person she was.

To her dismay, Daphne started to cry. "Oh, please, Miss Granger. You simply _must_ help me. You don't understand, my husband, Adrian, he is awful. He hits me all the time, invents things that I've done to wrong him, he _drinks_ heavily," she whispered, mindful of the Prohibition the country was under. "He isn't the man that I married, and I do not think that I will live much longer. It's only a matter of time before he snaps."

Hermione let her eyes trace over the bruise that had obviously darkened Daphne's skin, and she could already feel her resolve begin to break. "Couldn't you go to the police or try to get a divorce?" She offered, feeling rather unhelpful. Hermione couldn't condone murdering someone if she hadn't explored all of the alternates first.

Daphne shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, Adrian's father is on the police force, so it likely wouldn't go anywhere. And that means that a divorce is out as well," She said wringing her hands together in obvious concern. "Please, Miss Granger, won't you say that you'll help me?"

Sighing, Hermione knew that she was going to say yes. "I will help you, but you mustn't tell anyone that you came here. The shop owner is a good man and doesn't deserve to have his good name run through this business...so, you and Susan should stop offering helpful advice," she scolded, determined not to have a line of unhappy housewives out her door looking for undetectable murder.

"Oh, I won't, I promise," Daphne said, pulling out her purse. "I can pay you, whatever it costs, just let me know."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Yes, of course you would pay to purchase rat poison," she made eye contact with the woman, wanting her to understand that they couldn't talk about it openly. "Now, how big would you say that your rat problem is?"

Daphne nodded eagerly, her sea green eyes quickly filling with mirth. "Oh, about this big," she held her hand up over her head, indicating around six feet tall. "And about this wide," she used her hands to approximate her husband's lean form.

Hermione was able to quickly estimate just how much Mr. Pucey would weigh. She wanted to correctly calculate a dose that would be fatal without question, but the heavier he was, the bigger the dose would be, and the more obvious the taste would be to the person being poisoned. Still, you didn't want to give him the opportunity to recover from it either. "My, that seems like a significant rat problem," Hermione mused aloud to Daphne.

The blonde giggled, perhaps feeling giddy now that her problem was going to be solved. "Yes, I'm afraid it would eat me out of house and home," she quipped. She brought her white lace covered fingertips up to touch the bruise on the top of her cheek bone, perhaps subconsciously.

"Well, Mrs. Pucey, I think that I have just the thing for your rat problem. A little arsenic should do the trick." Hermione turned to face all of the dusty bottles behind the shelf. Her fingers quickly found the one with the pink glass, and tiny little print before pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and a scale. Daphne watched with rapt attention as Hermione carefully weighed out the proper dose of the greyish powder, perhaps just as amazed as Hermione that such a small amount of the substance would be enough to stop her husband from breathing. That it was so thought of as innocuous that anyone could just walk into a pharmacy and purchase it.

Once she'd measured out the required amount, Hermione transferred it into a small bag that Daphne could carry it safely in. "Now, Mrs. Pucey, often times, this poison can taste very bitter, very metallic, and rats have such a keen sense of smell, you know?" She told the other woman conspiratorially. "So, you will want to be careful what kind of food you put it in. You wouldn't want to tip the rats off to poison. Might I suggest a morning coffee?"

Daphne was sharp enough to catch on to what Hermione was saying, and nodded gratefully for the tip. "Oh, of course, that's a splendid idea," the woman agreed. "And no one will find out about...how I've dealt with this rat infestation?" She asked, obviously not wanting any of the heat or fallout to come back on her.

"No, there is no way currently to prove that you used rat poison, so your secret is safe with me." Hermione said, knowing that there were some rumors about so called _medical examiners_ in New York City who were working on ways to determine murder by poison, but there was no such test in New Orleans at that time. It was better for her as well, seeing as she didn't want suspicion to fall back on her, once two wives had murdered their husbands with arsenic that she sold them.

Daphne's eyes were welling up with tears once again, and she gave Hermione a watery smile. "Oh, how can I ever thank you? You have no idea what this means to me," she opined, sincerity in her voice.

Hermione gave her a tight smile. "No need for any thanks, Mrs. Pucey. I know how embarrassing it can be for a good housewife to have a rat infestation, and I am just happy to help you," Hermione told her. "However, I think that it would be best if we kept it between us. I'd rather you never mention my name again, and that is how you can repay me."

The blonde blushed, but nodded in agreement. "Of course. Thank you again. I won't forget this," she promised, making Hermione wince, before she turned and left the pharmacy, poison safely tucked away in her purse.

Once her customer was out of the shop, Hermione looked at the ticking clock on the wall and realized it was time for her to go. Jotting down a note about selling the arsenic as rat poison in the book, Hermione sighed once again seeing the evidence of her crime right in front of her eyes. Just like the last time that she had helped Mrs. Susan Smith, she told herself that that was going to be the _last_ time she was ever party to a crime. Hermione was not going to become known as some kind of poison mastermind who could help you get rid of all your little problems.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! I am so excited that people seem to enjoy the idea of expanding it. We get our first Tom/Hermione interaction at this chapter so I hope you enjoy! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter two and be on the lookout for chapter three soon!

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He was certainly not the usual clientele that she got at Ollivander's Pharmacy, Hermione thought, when she spied the well dressed man come in through the door, the bell ringing brightly. His vest was tailored and highlighted a gold pocket watch, his collar was starched and pressed highlighting the severe angle of his cheekbones. His suit coat was worn, even though it was hotter than hades outside, and humid to boot, and it likely cost more money than Hermione had ever made in her life. He practically oozed wealth, and looked incredibly out of place amidst the dusty shelves of the pharmacy.

Deciding that it was best to hide behind the counter meekly, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible, Hermione stood and organized the little tinctures and medicines that they sold at the shop, content to wait until he needed something to speak to him, if he did at all.

Unfortunately, he seemed quite intent to talk to her. He stood in front of the counter, his startlingly dark blue eyes considering her for a moment, having assured that she was alone in the shop, before asking the question on his mind. "Are you Hermione Granger?" He asked, his voice deep and commanding.

Instantly, Hermione's heart was full of fear, pounding against her ribcage. Just who was he, exactly, that he knew her name? Was he with the police? Was it possible that the poison had...no, Hermione was certain that there would be no way to detect it. Biting her lower lip, she nodded her head, unable to speak at the moment.

He smiled at her, though it didn't quite meet his eyes which were watching every single facial expression she made, cataloging, and obviously trying to figure her out, trying to use it to his advantage. His teeth were gleaming white. "I understand that you have been able to help not one, but two _widows_ with a pesky little problem that they had." He said, sounding casual enough, but Hermione could understand the subtext.

 _Drat_ , Hermione thought. It was about the poison then. She knew it was wrong to kill someone, but then again, she wasn't the one who actually administered the arsenic, just told the two women how much was needed to kill their husbands. Eyebrows drawn together, she remembered the ghost of a bruise on Mrs. Pucey's face. She never would have done it if the women weren't desperate to get away from their abusers. She never would have done it if she thought that it would come back on her.

Determined not to get sucked in by his startlingly good looks, Hermione decided to play dumb, knowing that most men didn't expect much out of the women that they dealt with. "I don't know what you're talking about." She'd thought there would be no way to determine that the men were poisoned, though she'd heard about some new science in New York City that was working on determining causes of death - using blood samples and tissue samples to detect for poisons.

"I think that you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Miss Granger." He said, his voice icy and low. "I think you know that you gave Mrs. Daphne Pucey and Mrs. Susan Smith arsenic and instructions with just how much to slip into their husband's morning breakfast."

"What do you want?" Hermione demanded, not liking where this conversation was headed at all. He clearly knew a lot more than he let on, so if he was police, there wasn't much that she could do to avoid trouble. If he was going to ask for something to kill someone...she'd just have to tell him to leave.

He looked her up and down, appraising her frizzy hair and slightly too large teeth. "I own a warehouse down near the First Street Wharf, on Rosseau Street, between First and Second. Perhaps you've heard of it?" He asked her pointedly, only to see that she had absolutely not recognition of the location at all. "Please meet me there tonight. I have an offer I'd like to discuss." He took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.

There was no way she was going down to his warehouse, especially seeing as she didn't know who he was or what he wanted with her. She was beginning to believe that he didn't exactly run on the right side of the law, so she didn't want to imagine all the horrible things that could happen to her if she crossed this mysterious man. "And if I don't?" She asked, dead serious.

"Well, I'd have to go have a little chat with the police about your...forays into murder." He told her, lighting the cigarette. He smirked at her, seeing her shocked face at the prospect of being blackmailed into helping him, and for...well what purpose, she wasn't entirely sure.

"They'd never listen to you." Hermione said, trying to sound sure of herself. "You're obviously...no good, and I just a simple shop clerk. Mr. Ollivander would vouch for me." She knew that was true, but she couldn't imagine bringing the poor man into something like a murder investigation, especially not after he'd been so nice to her.

The well dressed man laughed, his laughter being actually quite pleasing. "They'll listen." He promised. "We pay them off." He said, with a quirk of his lips. Hermione gasped, clearly shocked to learn that, especially that he would so freely admit it. He just tipped his hat at her, before turning to leave the shop. "Rosseau Street, between First and Second. Have a good day, Miss Granger." He bid her farewell, before leaving the shop, just as quickly as he'd entered

* * *

As Hermione made her way from her little apartment in the French Quarter down the warehouses on Tchoupitoulas, she was mentally berating herself with each step. She felt so silly that she was even headed to the place that the good looking man had told her to go, especially by herself, but she didn't have anyone that she could ask to come with her. In the end, she'd been too worried about his threat _not_ to go.

Hermione he could admit that he _was_ rather good looking, criminally so, with his blue eyes and dark wavy hair. He'd been tall and imposing and it would be only too easy to agree with him, if only to get him to flash a smile at her. And, in any case, she couldn't afford to say no to him. She didn't want to go to prison for murder! And more importantly, she didn't want the two women to go to prison either.

Plus, she could only imagine what Mr. Ollivander would think, the kindly old man who'd given her a job when her parents had died. It was that little bit of income that kept her out of the brothels and let her keep her own apartment.

Turning up First Street, Hermione found Rosseau easily enough. There was only one warehouse on the street, so she figured that this must be the place that the man was talking about. An imposing metal door was the only obvious entrance, and a sign for Riddle Family Industries hung above the door. That was odd, she thought, but seeing no other obvious place to go, she knocked hesitantly at the door. No one answered after a minute, and so she knocked again, only to remain unanswered.

Huffing in annoyance, Hermione couldn't believe that he would _demand_ that she meet him here, and then not actually show up. Looking left and right, Hermione finally decided to try the knob, since she'd already come all this way. To her surprise, it was open. Pulling the door open, she stepped inside cautiously, calling out. "Hello?" Seeing that there was only one way to go, she cautiously walked down the narrow hallway.

Once she was inside the warehouse, she followed her feet to the raucous laughter in the back of the building, to a little office. Looking in, it was filled with cigarette smoke and the table covered with bottles of whiskey. Hermione gasped at the contraband, knowing that it was very illegal to have alcohol after the Prohibition had been passed the year before.

"Ah, Miss Granger." The man from the pharmacy's voice came up behind her, his breath tickling the side of her face. How had he even snuck up on her like that? "I'm glad that you came. Come in and I'll introduce you to my friends."

Hermione surveyed the room, keeping as close to the man as possible - he was the only known entity in this situation - while he introduced her to four men in the office, who were all looking at her _very_ curiously.

"Rodolphus Lestrange, Evan Rosier, Abraxas Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov." He said, his hand sweeping around the table. Three of them were clearly of French descent, but they didn't look much alike. Rodolphus had dark blond hair while Abraxas's hair was pale blond, nearly white. Evan had hair nearly as dark as Tom, but it had none of his curl. The last man, Dolohov, Hermione thought must come from Russia, judging from his name. His eyes were dark and sparkling and never left her face, making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. "This is Miss Granger."

Their greetings ranged from silent to polite to the outright leering of Rodolphus. Hermione sat at the chair that the man had pulled out for her, her face stiff with worry. "Well, you clearly know a lot about me, but I confess that I have absolutely no idea who you are." She said, uncomfortable that she didn't know the identity of the handsome man.

Rodolphus burst out laughing. "Christ, Tommy, you brought her all the way out here and you didn't even tell her your name?" He questioned the handsome man, obviously called Tom. Rodolphus turned to look at Hermione then. "You really don't know who he is? He's in all the papers?"

Hermione looked at the handsome man once more, wondering if she _should_ know who he was. Unfortunately for her, she didn't recognize him, even with Rodolphus's hints, and Hermione was still clueless as to his identity. "Sorry, no. Should I know him?"

The men at the table laughed, and Hermione got the distinct impression that they were laughing at her. Tom joined in the laughter as well, before turning to smile at her. "I am sorry that I was so remiss in my introductions. Miss Granger, you should _absolutely_ know who I am, seeing as I run this city." He said, obviously thinking rather highly of himself. "My name is Tom Riddle."

Hermione was not able to school her face in time to hide her reaction to his identity. Of course she knew who Tom Riddle was, and she _did_ recognize the name from the papers. He was only the most notorious gangster in New Orleans, smuggling all kinds of things in and out of the city, running brothels and illegal gambling, as well as several speakeasies. He wasn't lying when he said he ran the City, and as the papers would have you believe, he ruled it ruthlessly, having many bodies to his name.

Oh, how had she been so stupid to get caught up with such notorious gangsters? Hermione could feel her heart rate increase, and she hoped the men surrounding her couldn't tell that she was on the verge of panic. She wanted nothing to do with the man who'd murdered his own father in cold blood, allegedly. Finally, she nodded in recognition of his name. "Well, here I am, what did you want to discuss that you had me come all this way?" She asked Tom sharply, annoyed at his tactics for getting her there, ruthless gangster or not.

He grinned at her for her forthrightness. "Well, let's get down to business. We know that you are a brilliant little self taught chemist, with a penchant for poison." He told her, and she knew that his words were meant to flatter her, that he was trying to butter her up, and she was determined to not let it affect her, despite how nice it was to be recognized. "And a person with talents, such as yourself, would be able to make alcohol."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, seeing as she'd been under the impression that he would want her to produce poison for one of his enemies. "But that's illegal." She said indignantly, blushing when the table erupted in laughter once again.

"Illegal, she says!" The one called Evan laughed, hazel eyes shining with unshed tears. "Does she even know who we are Tommy?" He clearly didn't find her background to be suitable for integration into their little business. She was obviously too naive to be a part of the criminal enterprise that Riddle ran.

"As you can see, we find little use in following the law, same as you. If anything prohibition is good for business," Tom told her, waving his hand at the bottles. "We could make you a very rich woman. You are already on the wrong side of the law, Miss Granger." Tom smirked at her, taking another drag from his cigarette, before leaning in towards her. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "If you are going to be bad, be good at it."

Hermione scoffed at his pronouncement, wanting to insist that she _wasn't_ a bad person, but after what she'd done for Mrs. Pucey, she could no longer claim that being accessory to murder was a one time thing. She was certain that some people would think she was a bad person. Still, Hermione looked around the little office, which appeared to be full of contraband alcohol, including a case of French champagne, which was rumored to sell for _hundreds_ of dollars. "Seems as if you have plenty of alcohol here," she shrugged her shoulders. "Why do you need _my_ help with it?"

Tom leaned back in his chair, giving her an appraising look, and Hermione got the feeling that he'd rather underestimated her. "The problem is our last producer, Slughorn, has gotten a little bit sloppy, and well...clients won't buy from us again if they die." He didn't seem at all concerned that people who had drank alcohol he had sold to them had _died_ from it.

"The priest?" She asked, thinking it was odd that _he_ would know anything about making alcohol. Seeing Tom's jerking nod, Hermione mused that it was true that dead customers quickly became customers no longer. She knew it was dangerously tricky to make your own alcohol and you could end up blind or dead very easily. She nibbled on her lower lip, unaware of how his eyes strayed to the bit of pink flesh captured in between her teeth. "I suppose...it would be doing a service, to ensure that no one dies accidentally."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart." Dolohov said with a grin, his accented voice cutting through the tension in the room. He let his fingers trail over her hand, causing Hermione to shiver and snatch her hand back from the table. Just because she was considering working with them did _not_ mean that she wanted a physical relationship with any of them.

Tom wasn't done with his offer yet, and was quick to sweeten the pot. "As a token of goodwill and faith, we will pay to send you to Tulane. You can get a degree in chemistry. All you have to agree to is to produce good, high quality alcohol for us and only us." Tom told her, his voice a seductive whisper.

Hermione was unable to contain her excitement at the offer of a University degree. She'd longed to have higher education, but many women didn't go to University, let alone to study chemistry. It would be wonderful to have that degree as it would allow her to take freelance work and then she'd have loads of free time to study whatever she wanted or even write a book. Maybe, she could even publish herself one day, if she could generate enough income. "But how will I get in? I don't have any kind of paperwork or certifications." Hermione said, knowing that this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Unfortunately, she didn't have any paperwork since her parents had died, and her mother had pulled her from school years ago.

"You leave that to us." Tom promised, quietly. Hermione could feel a shiver run up her neck from seeing just how calculated that he was. Tom Riddle was certainly someone that you wouldn't want to cross. "Now, do we have a deal or am I going to have to leave a tip with the police about your very impressive poisoning work?"

Hermione could feel her hackles rise, when he reminded her of the threat hanging over her. Still, she knew that there was no way that she was going to turn this down, especially with the opportunity of additional schooling. "Yes, I accept." She told Tom, hoping that her voice sounded confident, decisive.

Tom gave her a shark-like grin, and she got the impression that he was rather used to getting what he wanted. "Excellent. Shall we toast this new _partnership_ with some champagne?" Not waiting for an answer, he ordered Abraxas to get out one of the bottles. The blond did not take kindly to being treated like servant, but he did Tom's bidding anyways.

The next thing she knew, Hermione had a coupe glass of the bubbling gold liquid pressed her hand, and she clinked glasses with the five men, feeling a bit dazed about the dangerous endeavor that she just agreed to take on. Drinking it as quickly as she could, Hermione made excuses about her long walk back to the French Quarter, before leaving the warehouse, having received instructions of when to show back up the following Monday.

Walking back along the Mississippi River towards the French Quarter, Hermione let her eyes trace over the calm, muddy water, wondering if she'd just made a horrible mistake. Some people would see her as a bad person, but then she remembered all the _good_ that Tom Riddle supposedly did in the community as well. Hopefully, she would be pleasantly surprised by the man, and not live to regret her actions.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so glad that you are enjoying this so far, as it has been quite fun to expand. I have been working on the plotting and I think this will be around 20 chapters. you can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter three and be on the lookout for chapter four soon!

* * *

Hermione almost couldn't believe the turn that her life had made in just a few short days. Somehow she had gone from quiet shop girl that no one paid a second mind to, to associate to the Riddle criminal enterprise.

It wasn't as though she'd had much choice, especially not with Riddle's insistence that he would turn her into the police if she didn't comply, but the thought of attending classes at Tulane was far too much for her to pass up. That didn't mean that she hadn't spent that first night laying awake in her bed, agonizing over what she'd agreed to do. Make alcohol? It was something that she could say with certainty that she had never attempted to do, what with it being against the law and all. Still, she'd begun reviewing some books that described the process and she thought that she would be able to handle it just fine.

Riddle had stopped by earlier in the week and asked her to write down everything that she thought she might need to do her best work. They were going to be charging top dollar for the product, and so they weren't _tolerant_ of any mistakes. He'd returned when Mr. Ollivander was in the shop, but approached her without missing a beat, requesting that she fill a prescription for aspirin and caffeine, to treat migraines.

Without indicating that they had ever interacted before, Hermione had gone through her task, meticulously counting the tablets, and filling in the book with the information, before returning it to a smirking Riddle, her list of necessities hidden under the prescription.

As soon as he'd left, Ollivander had pressed a hand to his chest. "Lord, don't you know who that was?" He asked, rounding on Hermione, who was doing her best to look unperturbed.

"The prescription was for a...Tom Riddle?" She said, consulting her book once again, and trying to act innocent. "Is that not who that was?"

"He's a mobster, Hermione." Ollivander had warned her, his eyes wide. "I can't imagine what he would be doing coming into my shop. He's very dangerous, so let me tell you, if he is darkening our door, it is not a good thing. Don't be fooled by charming smiles and good looks."

Hermione had smiled at Ollivander meekly. "Oh, you know that I'm rarely distracted from my work, Mr. Ollivander." She promised him. "I didn't pay him any more mind than any other customer. Besides, his prescription was for a migraine - I am sure that he was only ducking into the closest shop to ease his pain. But I will try to remember that that one is a dangerous one." It was true that she didn't have a sweetheart, or a gentleman caller, as it was, but she wasn't blind to her neighbor's longing looks in her general direction. Unfortunately, Hermione found that she and Neville Longbottom were better off as friends.

But Riddle's visit had been a week ago, and tonight was the first night that she was meant to return to the warehouse on Rosseau Street, to begin distilling the alcohol, and she was antsy to leave. She and Mr. Ollivander had worked through their entire inventory that day, making note of their lesser used chemicals that might have gone bad, seeing as they were so rarely used. It was important work, but she was entirely consumed with the promise of _creating_ something on her own.

It was less than half an hour before the shop was meant to close for the weekend and unfortunately, there was nothing left to do. Knowing that she had never asked to leave early before, Hermione bit her lower lip before deciding to try asking Mr. Ollivander. "Sir, if it wasn't too much trouble, I was wondering if I might leave a bit early tonight?"

Ollivander looked up at her with surprise, before noticing the time on the clock. "Oh, look at the time. Do you have somewhere to be, Hermione? A date perhaps?" Her cheeks blossomed with color, but there was no way that she could tell him where she was _actually_ expected. She tried to deny it, but Ollivander cut her off. "No need to explain, dear, I understand. Go, and enjoy yourself." He told her warmly.

Oh, that made her feel rather awful about what she was doing. Mr. Ollivander placed so much faith in her, and thought her to be a conscientious girl, but here she was running off to see Tom Riddle, the very man he'd warned her against! "Thank you sir. Have a good weekend."

"Oh, Hermione, before you leave." Ollivander called to her from behind the counter, just before she had walked out the front door. "A police man stopped by earlier today before you came in. Said that he had a few questions for you about a customer. I told him he could stop back again on Monday, when you were in next."

She swallowed thickly. It didn't take a university degree for her to know what _that_ meant. Nerves prickled up her neck while she tried to keep an appropriate face of concern and confusion. "A policeman? I wonder what he could have to talk to _me_ about?"

"He's likely just checking up on things. Dotting Is and crossing Ts." Ollivander said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't let it trouble you."

"I won't sir. Thank you for letting me know." With that, she did turn and leave the store. Her mind was a whirl of questions, and she wasn't entirely what she should do about the policeman, especially since she didn't actually know what he wanted. There was a possibility that it had nothing to do with Mrs. Smith _or_ Mrs. Pucey. There was a very good chance that even if they knew about the arsenic, there was no way that they could prove that she knew anything about it. Briefly, she wondered if she should tell Riddle about this, seeing as he had boasted about paying people on the police force. Surely, he could make it go away?

But, she didn't want to be beholden to Tom Riddle any more than she already was. It was bad enough that she was working for him, she didn't need him doing any favors for her either. She would find out what the police man wanted, and then make a decision once she was done with that.

Decision made, Hermione made her way through the winding streets towards the great Mississippi River, which she would walk along until she got to the wharf. It was a pleasant enough evening, not nearly as humid as it had been, and the breeze was lovely too, though she always found the way that it rustled the leaves to be a bit sinister. New Orleans was an odd city, she thought, not much like many of the cities up North. It always seemed a bit _alive_ , as though there were hidden spirits and spectres hiding in every shade of Spanish moss, whispering their secrets to whoever cared to listen.

Before she realized it, she was back near the wharfs, and she turned up away from the river, her feet carrying her to the warehouse she had met Riddle at last time. It didn't look any less imposing in the dying sunlight than it did at night, but she was determined not to let her nerves show. Knocking on the door hesitantly, she heard movement on the other side, before the door was thrown open, Dolohov ushering her inside once he'd recognized their guest.

Hermione had no doubt that Dolohov was dangerous. With any imposing frame and permanent scowl, he looked like how she would describe a criminal. His jaw seemed to be clenched constantly, as though he was just barely keeping a handle on his anger. Still, that didn't mean that she wouldn't _try_ to be polite to him. "Good afternoon, Dolohov."

"Granger," the man answered, though he did not smile at her. Gone were the teasing touches that he'd given her the week prior, and Hermione was not certain that he'd only done that to try and unnerve her.

She followed him down the echoing hallway to the open area of the warehouse, which was lit up this time, giving Hermione more time to look around. It was filled with boxes - contraband, she was sure, seeing as she knew that Riddle was a smuggler and bootlegger - marked with all kinds of innocuous labels. She highly doubted that Riddle would have this much _flour_ and _spices_.

Her attention was quickly grabbed by an area that had obviously been cleared for her, a shiny new boiler glinting in the light. Quickly, leaving Dolohov behind, she walked over to observe the fermenter, a large mechanical engine connected to the pump, which would churn her mash until it's sugar level had dropped to an appropriate level. Wrinkling her nose, she wondered just how noisy it was going to be, though she was excited to see how it was all going to come together.

"How do you like the equipment?" A voice asked from behind her. Hermione turned around to see Tom Riddle standing behind her. She'd been so distracted that she hadn't even heard the click of his shoes against the concrete floor. He looked amused at having caught her off guard.

She looked past him, and noticed that Dolohov had been joined by Rosier, but none of the other men from before were there. Returning her attention to the intimidating man in front of her, she noticed that he seemed a bit annoyed at having been ignored, no matter how temporarily it had been. To her embarrassment, she found it quite difficult not to have her attention on Tom Riddle when he was in the room. He was incredibly handsome, his dark hair and piercing blue eyes making for an attractive coloring, and one that you did not typically see in New Orleans. His defined jaw and cheekbones made it quite obvious that he was a man, and Hermione was not accustomed to spending quite so much time in close proximity with any man other than Mr. Ollivander.

Realizing that he was still waiting for an answer, Hermione blushed, her eyes focused on the buttons in the collar of his shirt while she answered him. "Everything that I've asked for is here." She said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I've never tried distilling alcohol before, though, so I have no idea how it will turn out. I am sure it will be adequate." Under promise, over deliver. When dealing with such dangerous men, she didn't want to make promises she couldn't keep.

"Adequate? Fucking adequate?" Rosier snarled from his place across the floor. "Does she have any idea how much this cost?" That was the second time that he'd spoken out of turn, and Hermione got the feeling that he was quite the hothead. She figured that she would have to keep her eye on him, just in case.

Tom waved his hand at his...friend? Associate? What was it that you called your fellow gangsters, Hermione wondered. "It's her first time." He said with a smirk, which earned a laugh from both Dolohov and Rosier, while it only caused Hermione to blush. "Well, Miss Granger, I suppose that we will let you get to work then. The dry goods are here," he pointed to where some sacks were waiting, "while the liquids can be found over here."

She nodded, wanting to get started on her very first batch, though she was also nervous. She so hoped that it turned out well, but she knew that there would be a fair amount of experimentation in the first batches. She knew that she was unlikely to distill two batches that were exactly the same. Deciding to get started, she got out her measuring instruments and the rye.

* * *

Tom stood near the window in his office, which gave him a vantage of the entire warehouse. He could keep a good eye on the intriguing Miss Granger quite easily. Antonin and Evan were sitting at the table, making wagers on if Hermione had actually experienced the touch of a man gleefully, unused to a girl who was more demure than fast. Bellatrix, Rodolphus's wife, had gotten the reputation of being quite easy, and not only in their circle.

Seeing how carefully Miss Granger was weighing the yeast, Tom wondered if his investment in her was the right choice. "What do you make of her?" He asked his two friends, unable to take his eyes off of her.

Evan snorted. "She's fucking naive, she is." He said with a roll of his eyes. "I think that she's a waste of time. She'll be easily spooked, and we don't want trouble." Ever since Tom first floated the idea of going outside of their usual source for alcohol, he'd been against it. When he heard it was to bring in a girl who was decidedly not a part of the criminal underground, he'd been even more against it.

"I don't know, she did kill two people." Antonin said with a shrug. He had been much more open to the idea of the girl, as he thought she was rather shrewd, and he recognized a bit of himself in her. He was also an orphan and had to spend his time figuring things out for himself as a child, eventually bringing himself all the way to America. He thought that she might have cultivated that same kind of ruthless spirit that he had.

Tom watched her drag the bag of yeast towards the contraptions that were needed with amusement. Just when he was about to send Antonin out there to help her, she finally got it to move, pushing it across the floor. He was surprised to find it most amusing.

"She only agreed to help because she thought they were battered women." Evan countered. "Daphne said that she wasn't going to sell her the stuff until she saw the bruise and Daph started playing up the husband angle. I still wish Daphne would have let me take care of that fucking idiot myself." Normally any kind of disputes would be held within the family, but Daphne was far too strong willed to be told what to do.

"Well, your cousin no longer has a husband, and it is thanks to that girl." Tom said, rounding on his two associates. "She is exact, precise, and smart. I say we give her a chance. Once she gets a taste of the money, I think she might be singing a different tune." Daphne had brought them a gift, after all. It would be wrong to throw it away. And well, if she didn't work out or if she decided to cross them, Tom was very well versed in how to deal with rats.

"I agree." Antonin said with a grin. "I am excited to taste what she comes up with. Slughorn's work has diminished to swill."

With that decided, he sat down at the table with the other two men, placing a cigarette between his lips. Patting himself down, he looked for his box of matches. "When did Rodolphus say he'd be returning from Angola?" Matches found, he lit the cigarette, taking a drag.

"I believe he said he'd be back in three days time, with Rabastan in tow." Evan replied, looking at the calendar that hung on the wall to confirm. "Rabastan isn't being released until tomorrow."

Tom nodded, glad to hear it. Having Rabastan up at the State prison for two years had been a major blow to their organization, seeing as they used his expertise in several different _ventures_. It was quite the opposite of Rodolphus, who was rather happy to reap the benefits of being a mobster, but he hated doing anything that might get his hands dirty. Rabastan was down for everything you could have asked of him, even if it meant he'd have to be locked up for a while. Still, the younger of the Lestrange brothers had done his bit without complaining, and Tom had seen to it that he was comfortable in the prison, supplying him with rum, cigarettes, and even a girl every now and again.

"That's wonderful news, boys." Tom smiled as his friends, very pleased with the news. "We have some big moves to make, and it will help having Rab for planning and execution. These cops have gotten far too complacent in New Orleans." With his hands behind his head, he leaned back into the chair. "I think it's time to show them just who's in charge here. They only work here because _I_ let them work." He pounded his fist on the table, making Evan flinch.

"Of course you do, Tommy." Antonin assured him. "Whatever you want, you know I am game to help with. Are we talking a robbery or sending someone a message, maybe?" He asked patting at his waist, where a revolver was waiting.

Tom grinned at his eager friend, before shaking his head. "No, Tony, nothing like that - _yet_." He promised. "I am just planning the biggest take that this city has ever seen. But the details can wait until we get everyone involved. I mean _everyone_." He promised, knowing that he was probably going to need all of his best men involved.

Evan and Antonin were both very intrigued as to what the possible plan could be, but knew not to question Tom too much at that time. They knew that he would fill them in when he wanted to and not a moment before. "Say, Tom, don't you think that since Rab is finally out of Angola, and we should throw him a homecoming?"

Antonin perked right up at the sound of that. "Yeah, I mean, the guy's been locked up for two years, don't you think we should reward him for that? Champagne, good whiskey, girls, more girls than he fucking knows what to do with?"

It was clear that Antonin was describing the kind of party he might like for himself, but Tom could definitely see the appeal. It had been a rather long time since all of his men had gotten together for a real party. Still, he made it seem as though he was considering it, just so that he wasn't seen as giving too _easily_. "I think that might be a good way to welcome him back. Let me talk with Avery, and see if they will be available sometime next week for a private party."

Tom leaned back, feeling rather good about how things were working out. He had a new chemist, one of his most loyal men was on his way back to New Orleans, and he was running this city.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so glad that you are enjoying this story, as I have really enjoyed working out the expansion and what all is going to happen. So, all my information on the distillation of alcohol is coming from a Popular Mechanics article, so it might not be 100% correct, as I've never actually made alcohol before, obviously. So please forgive any errors. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter four and be on the lookout for chapter five soon!

* * *

Hermione had been leaving her upstairs apartment in the French Quarter much earlier than usual, seeing as they were going to try and get her sorted at Tulane that day. It had meant that she ran into her neighbor, Neville Longbottom, who played trombone for a jazz band most nights. He looked exhausted, being that he was only coming home for the night, and it was easily seven in the morning. Mostly, he seemed surprised to see her. "Morning, Hermione. Don't usually see you up this early."

She smiled at him shyly, knowing that he might yet have romantic intentions for her. "Good morning, Neville." She responded in kind. "I am actually on the way to Tulane to get sorted with classes." She nibbled on her lower lip, trying to decide how much to confide in her neighbor. "Someone was quite impressed with my work at Ollivander's and reckons that I've got potential, so I have a sponsor of sorts."

That certainly piqued Neville's interest, but before he could ask her another question she waved him up. "Sorry, I would love to talk more, but I really must be going." She promised him that they would take some time to catch up later. His resulting smile made her think that she might have given him a bit _too_ much hope.

Cursing herself, Hermione skipped down the stairs where she easily picked out Abraxas, who was obviously getting steadily more annoyed with each passing minute that she didn't appear. He was easy enough to pick out from his pale blond hair glinting in the sunlight. But, she would have been able to find him even if his coloring didn't make him quite so obvious.

Abraxas Malfoy had come to pick her up in his _car_. It hadn't been difficult for Hermione to recognize that unlike the other men in Tom Riddle's little criminal enterprise, Abraxas had been born into money, and he wasn't afraid to show it off. He had a kind of casual air of wealth that made him seem as if he wasn't trying at all, but at the same time he was intensely curious to know what people thought of him.

She eagerly opened the door, before sliding into the seat, enjoying the feel of the cool leather seats pressing into the back of her legs. She greeted him with a smile, only to be disappointed to be _sneering_ at her. "Is that really what you are going to wear?" He asked, eyeing up her smart - well, she thought it was smart - green day dress with disdain.

Feeling her ire rise, Hermione nodded firmly. "This is the most formal dress that I own." She told him tersely.

"I will have to see about someone taking you shopping if you are going to be attending classes. After all, you are representing all of us, but most importantly, you are representing Tom Riddle. Never forget that." He said sternly. "But really, I don't know why I expected much more of someone who lived in such a place." He sniffed delicately, though Hermione could agree that the aroma of the French Quarter often left much to be desired.

She knew that she should probably bite her tongue, knowing that arguing with Abraxas wasn't likely to change anything, she couldn't help it. She'd come to love her little flat on the boisterous street, often leaving her windows open at night to feel the cool breeze and listen to all the revelers outside walking from party to party. Yes, it was a bit cramped - it was all one room save for the bathroom - and cluttered - she'd filled it up with several stacks of books - it was home and it was _hers_. "I am very grateful to have my flat. If it wasn't for Mr. Ollivander's kindness, I would likely be living in a brothel somewhere." She told him proudly.

To her disappointment, Abraxas just smirked at her. "All the better for you then. I doubt that _you'd_ get much business with the way that you dress."

Hermione huffed, not sure if she should be annoyed or not. Of course, she knew that there were men in the world who wanted to _be_ with her. She wasn't completely unfortunate looking. But, she also didn't know that she should hinge her self worth on if some man she'd never met before wanted to pay to have sex with her. Still, Abraxas's words hurt, and she reminded silent for the rest of the trip. Malfoy seemed content to just listen to whatever was on the radio.

She remained quiet until they got to the University, at which point she was far too entranced by the well manicured lawns and beauty of the school to pay attention to Malfoy's rudeness. She followed him into the chemistry building, and sat outside of the Dean's office where Malfoy instructed, whilst he went inside to discuss the matter of her joining the department.

Meanwhile, Abraxas was doing his best to get then Dean, a _Doctor_ Severus Snape, to admit the girl outside. "Yes, well, I found her at a pharmacy, and I was just so impressed with her level of work, I thought that I simply must get her into the program for formal study. I am certain that she will do well here."

Snape gave Abraxas a look of absolute disdain. "You honestly expect me to believe that that...little street urchin will do well here in the Chemistry department? We have never admitted a female student before."

Abraxas had to school his face, seeing as he didn't really have any personal feelings for the girl, and was only here on her behalf because of Tom. She would do well in the department, or else. He didn't care what she had to put up with in order to get a degree. "Yes, well, she reminds me rather of you, Severus." Abraxas purred, knowing that he was going to have to stick some unpleasantness in Severus's face to get him to do what he wanted. "You forget that you were once just a little street urchin who showed an aptitude that my father recognized, and snapped you up out of poverty. And now look at you - you are the Dean."

Severus flushed for a moment, before narrowing his eyes a bit further. "What is she your mistress or something? Some little whore down in New Orleans, while your wife is at your estate?"

"Fuck!" Abraxas called out, knowing that Severus had a _very_ nosy secretary. "Of course not, Severus, I would never...with _her_." Taking a deep breath, Abraxas's face was the look of calm. "I just think that she has real potential and she will do well here. Give the girl a chance."

The dark haired man ran a hand across his face, seriously considering it. "She doesn't even have any records of advanced schooling." It was a really big ask, one that Severus did not fancy having to explain to his higher ups at the school.

When Abraxas thought that he might be wavering, he had to twist the final knife. "After all the money my family has donated to this institution! Honestly, I have half a mind to stop being so generous."

"Fine." Severus grumbled out. "We will take her, but on a probationary status. If her grades are not up to snuff by the end of the semester, she is out of here, no warning. Term begins in two weeks. I will handle the paperwork." He waved his hand at Abraxas, not wanting to look at the blond for another instant.

Abraxas met a smiling Hermione in the hallway. "Well, you are in. Class begins in two weeks, and I will take care of your books. Just be ready to pick them up next time you are at the warehouse." He instructed, his mind already whirring about what he was going to have to tell his wife.

"That's wonderful news." Hermione said brightly, a skip in her step.

"Not exactly. They assume that you are my mistress, and on account of Severus's chatty secretary, it is only a matter of time before word gets back to my wife." Abraxas told her with a groan of disappointment. "Now I am going to have to introduce you to Juniper. Once she takes one look at you, she will know that the rumor is an impossibility." He said, not caring if it hurt her feelings one bit.

"Hey!" Hermione called, feeling rather annoyed with the blond, and eager to get out of his presence.

"It will be good for you." Abraxas promised her. "At the very least, she will want to take you shopping, and thus, your personal sense of style will be vastly improved upon." He stared down his nose at her, waiting for her to talk back. Instead, Hermione just huffed, crossing her arms, remaining silent the whole car ride over to Ollivander's.

* * *

Hermione had been rather excited to see her alcohol come together, purely on an academic level. When she was so focused on the science of it, she could almost forget that what she was doing was incredibly illegal, and that it would contribute to the overall drunkenness of the City. She tried not to think about that angle too much, least a pit of dread form in her stomach.

It had taken a bit longer than she would have expected to turn the mash, but Hermione was nothing if not patient. She went to the warehouse everyday, checking on the sugar content of the mixture, knowing that if you didn't have a good wash, your final product wouldn't be very good either.

She'd been exceptionally excited to head back to the warehouse today, even if it meant dealing with Abraxas's snarky comments - which had only continued the more that he saw her wardrobe - and Rosier's obvious distrust of her. Rodolphus hadn't been by since the first day that she'd seen him, though Antonin was usually around. The Russian was the nicest of all of Tom Riddle's gang, but his looks were always a bit _too_ appreciative for her liking. Tom Riddle had mostly left her alone, checking in once or twice to ensure that she was making progress. She never knew how to act around him, seeing as whenever he spoke to her, she was filled with all kinds of nerves as she thought about what he might do to her if she messed up. He was _ruthless_ after all.

Moving the wash into the large double boiler was harder than she expected, and she couldn't reasonably lift it out of the mash tun all by herself. Biting her lip, she couldn't imagine asking one of the guys to lift it for her, it would be far too embarrassing to her. Instead, she struggled with it, steadily working up a sweat, until her hair was stuck to the back of her neck, and she felt wobbly with fear every time she heard the wash slosh back and forth.

Just when she thought she was going to spill it everywhere, and watch a week's work of hard work go right down the drain, she was surprised to have her load lifted by another pair of arm's. She looked up, surprised to see Tom with a lit cigarette between his lips, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. It was the only time that she'd ever seen the man in any state of undress, and she was mesmerized by the pale skin of his forearms, stretched over tensed muscles. She thought she might see the hint of a tattoo, right where his arm disappeared into the the fabric.

She was so embarrassed at having been caught staring, that she almost didn't realize that he was waiting for an answer to his question. "Christ, Granger, this thing is fucking heavy." He reminded her. "Where does it go?"

She blinked at him addressing her by anything but _Miss_ Granger, and quickly shook the odd thoughts out of her head. "Sorry, into the double boiler." She told him, pointing to the next large pot. While he was pouring the wash into the boiler, Hermione crouched underneath it to quickly raise the temperature. They needed it boiling, but they only wanted the ethanol, so it was important not to get it too hot.

"You know, you really shouldn't smoke near the wash." Hermione scolded him, from her place on the floor. "You might get ash in it, and it would flavor the whole batch." She bit her lip then when she remembered _just_ who she was talking to, hoping that he didn't get too upset.

"Well, Miss Granger, you should learn to ask for assistance when you need it. Then maybe I wouldn't have to swoop in just in the knick of time, preventing you from wasting lots of money and hours of work." He told her, though he was moderately able to keep her cool. Hermione was impressed that he didn't seem to lash out unnecessarily, though. So far she hadn't seen him to be unnecessarily cruel, though she wasn't so naive to think that he hadn't done terrible things in his life.

Just when she was about to stand back up, he made a little noise in the back of his throat. "Tell me, Miss Granger, what exactly is the chemical process that the alcohol is going through right now?" He asked her, curious.

Hermione was surprised. She almost thought that he wanted to keep talking to her and was only looking for an excuse, but she shook that thought away. Of course, he would be curious as to what his investment actually was. "Well, the mash was turned into the wash, while the yeast was eating the sugars." She said softly, slowly gaining confidence in her words. "Now, we are waiting for the ethanol to boil, where the steam will go through a somewhat complicated process of being condensed back into liquid and then age."

Distracted, Hermione kept talking. "This is what is going to boil the ethanol and turn it into steam." Perhaps forgetting that the boiler was currently quite hot, she let her fingers touch the shiny metal, only to pull her fingers back in surprise, feeling the cold sensation very quickly turn into pain when her brain registered that it was actually burning.

Tom quickly sprang into action, uncharacteristically kind, grabbing her burnt fingers between his hands. "Here, let me help you with that." He urged her over towards the sink in the corner of the workroom, putting the temperature slightly colder than room temperature. "Leave your fingers under the water. I will be right back."

Surprised, she watched him stroll back to the office, seemingly in no hurry. It was very nice of him to help her, especially after she was so stupid to have been burnt. When he came back, he had a glass filled with a dark colored liquid. "Here, drink this quickly. It should dull the pain."

Hermione did as she was told, drinking it all in one swallow, only to sputter and cough at the strength of it. Tom smirked at her discomfort, but it definitely helped to distract from the throbbing in her fingertips. "Shouldn't we put butter on them, or something?" She asked, feeling a bit helpless.

Tom frowned at her. "No, that actually traps the heat. Just a few more minutes under the water and you will be right as rain, though, you might want to bandage them when you get home."

She watched with wide eyes as he gently removed her hand from the running water and gently patted it dry with the pocket square from his jacket. It was surprising to see how careful he was being with her, and she found it quite...sweet actually. Lips parted, Hermione knew that Tom Riddle was obviously quite attractive, but he was still a bad person...a bad person who she had agreed to do business with. _She_ had no business thinking of him as anything more, as she was sure that it would only end in heartbreak.

It was almost in slow motion when he lifted her hand up to look at the red tips of her pointer and middle finger, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration. He turned her hand this way and that, he ascertained that the damage was perhaps not as bad as he initially thought. "Better?" He asked her, his low voice a rumble in his throat.

Hermione swallowed, but nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Helpless to do anything, she watched through fluttering lashes as he brought the fingertips to his lips, gently pressing the fingers against them in a soft kiss, almost like one that you would give at a child, who needed a boo-boo kissed better. She was certain that he heard her sudden inhalation of breath, and the moment between them was broken. He cleared his throat, and released her hand as though _she_ had burned _him_. "Glad to hear it Miss Granger." Before she could respond in anyway, he had turned away from her, and returned to the office.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, her heart hammering away in her chest, thinking about how he'd touched her. For all her bluster and insistence that she knew how the world worked, Hermione had yet to receive a real kiss, and to be so close to a _man's_ lips was startling and made her belly do all sorts of flip flops. And there was no denying that Tom Riddle was definitely a man. With his superior height and good looks, almost a charming, boyish look, there was no doubt that many a woman would find Riddle attractive.

But just what was lying beneath that well maintained facade? What secrets did Tom Riddle have that even the rumor mill didn't know about? If he was so open about the illegal activities that he did, what did he do behind closed doors? She wasn't certain that she wanted to find out.

Shaking her head, Hermione returned to the still, wanting to monitor the condensation. She knew that it was critical that they not allow too much water to get into the mixture, or else the alcohol wouldn't end up coming out quite as strong.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so glad that you are enjoying this story, as it is so fun and different for me to write. I love a muggle AU of course, but I know they aren't everyone's cup of tea. You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter five, and be on the lookout for chapter six next week!

* * *

Hermione yawned loudly, in a very unladylike manner, not even bothering to cover her mouth with her hand. Flushing with embarrassment, she looked around the shop, making sure that there were no customers there to see her slip up. She had certainly been burning the candle at both ends recently. Between working her normal hours at Ollivander's Pharmacy and checking in on the progress of her alcohol, Hermione already had enough to do. But then, she had to add on school top of it.

Classes hadn't even started yet, but ever since Abraxas had given her her textbooks - typical sneer in place - she hadn't been able to put them down. She had already read the introductory book from cover to cover, and was busy brushing up on her mathematics skills, as she was positive that would be necessary to perform all sorts of calculations when she had labs.

She smiled, fingering the pages of her brand new laboratory journal. Covered in soft brown leather, it was the first impulse purchase Hermione had ever made in her entire life. Confident of the money that Riddle would be paying her soon, she knew that she could splurge a little. And really, every chemist worth their salt needed a journal to keep meticulous notes while they were experimenting.

So caught up in her daydreaming about her first day of classes, Hermione barely even registered the person entering the shop until he had cleared his throat, looking down at her from behind round glasses. Cursing her luck, Hermione could tell from his clothing that this was certainly the elusive police detective that Mr. Ollivander had warned her about. She'd avoided him twice so far, always slipping out just in the nick of time, but finally, fed up with the repeat visits, Mr. Ollivander had told the police officer a time when Hermione would be the only one in the shop.

"Miss Hermione Granger?" He asked, drinking in her wildly curling hair, seeing as the humidity had gotten to her.

She swallowed. "Yes, that's me." She tried to sound as meek as possible, but it was clear that the police officer was already not a huge fan of hers.

"I'm Detective Harry Potter, with the police department." He said, as authoritatively as he could. After dealing with Riddle and his _friends_ , Hermione wasn't so easily intimidated any longer. There was certainly much worse that they could do to her than this _Harry Potter_ could ever do. He was on the shorter side, and certainly lean, but all his clout as a policeman was diminished by his messy black hair and startling green eyes. "You know, you are a hard woman to get a hold of, Miss Granger. Almost seems like you don't want to talk to me."

Hermione forced herself to laugh, as though what he said was the most preposterous thing that he'd ever heard. "Certainly not, Officer Potter. I doubt I am any more flighty than your average young woman."

"Your employer told me you were very conscientious, and that you'd be able to help me with my inquiries." He took out a little notebook and a pen from his pocket, flipping through it until he found the page he wanted. "Does the name Daphne Pucey mean anything to you?"

Hermione blinked once or twice, making a big show of thinking it over. "I can't say that it does, Officer-"

"Detective." He cut her off, brusquely.

"Detective Potter. I don't know many of the customers names, unless they are regulars here, but I do keep notes of all transactions in this book." She patted on the top of the big book that she and Mister Ollivander kept meticulously. Flipping through the pages, scanning through them one by one, finally she found Daphne's name. "I do have a record of her visiting, a few weeks ago."

"We believe that she poisoned her husband." Potter said, leaning over, wanting to get a look at the book. "Can you tell me what you sold to her?"

"We normally don't give out that kind of information out, on account of confidentiality." Hermione tried weakly, only to be cut off by a glare from Potter. "Oh, alright." She read back over her notes, even though she already knew exactly what she'd sold Daphne. "Ah, yes, now I remember her. She was rather wealthy for this establishment, but I remember that she was very embarrassed that her kitchen had a rat infestation. I sold her some rat poison."

"Arsenic, you mean." Potter said with a frown. "Tell me, Miss Granger, is this amount enough to kill a grown man?" He asked, pointing at the total number of grams that she had recorded.

Hermione gaped at him, not really sure how she should answer this. Snapping his mouth shut, eyebrows furrowed together, she looked down at the number, considering carefully. "Well, I am sure that I don't know the answer to that at all. It would certainly kill a nest of rats, so if a grown man is comparable to a nest of rats, I would say so."

Detective Potter grabbed her empty laboratory journal, without asking for permission, greedy fingers paging through the empty pages. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed that he would just snatch it away like that. "What's this for?" Detective Potter asked finally, setting it back down on the counter when he realized it didn't hold the answers he was looking for.

"It's a laboratory journal." Hermione responded brusquely. "I am starting chemistry classes at Tulane next week, and it will be an important resource for when I am experimenting."

 _That_ certainly got Detective Potter's attention, to her annoyance. He looked her up and down, not trying to hide his evidently poor opinion of her. "Really? How would a shop girl like you afford Tulane, let alone have the marks to be accepted into the program?"

Hermione wanted to scowl at him, but she knew that she'd already made him suspicious about her. "Not that it's _any_ of your business, Detective, but I have a sponsor who was very impressed with my work." She tapped her fingers on the counter restlessly, trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal to the policeman. "And, I know my rights well enough to realize that I don't have to speak with you on that subject anymore. Seeing as you clearly have issues with a woman being educated, I don't think I will answer any more questions on the topic."

Detective Potter's cheeks suddenly got very red, and he looked a bit sheepish, perhaps not wanting to come off as some kind of uneducated cur who didn't think women belonged in the classroom. But then, his eyes narrowed at her once again, reaching out to grab her wrist. Holding her bandaged fingers in his hand so that he could get a better look at them, she was taken aback by how differently he was treating her than Tom had. How odd to think that a gangster handled her more delicately than a policeman who was sworn to protect and serve? "How did you hurt your hand, Miss Granger?"

Pulling her hand back from out of his grasp, Hermione took a deep breath before answering. Obviously, she could tell him that she'd burnt them on a still that was being used to make illegal alcohol. "I burnt my fingers on the teapot, if you _must_ know." She told him haughtily. "Now, if you are finished treating me like a common criminal, I believe I've told you everything I can about Mrs. Pucey. I am very busy, and I have an inventory to take care of." Unwilling to break eye contact with the unpleasant man, she was practically daring him to say something else.

"Fine, but I might be back, Miss Granger." He said, clearly unhappy with the way that they were leaving things. Hermione was upset to know that something she had done or said had made him increasingly suspicious of her. She bit her lower lip, watching him walk out of the Pharmacy, and she wondered again if she should tell Riddle about this development. Shaking her head, Hermione was confident she could handle it herself.

She just hoped that Detective Potter would have bigger fish to fry, and would quickly forget about ever speaking to her.

* * *

Walking down the brick streets, her low heels clacking with every step she took, Hermione wondered if this might be a terrible, awful idea. She'd been a bit flattered, honestly, to be invited to one of the exclusive parties that Tom Riddle was throwing, and well, she'd never been to a _speakeasy_ before. It had all seemed fun and new and exciting at the time, when she'd accepted, but now that she was actually on her way, she was so nervous that she thought her stomach might try and leap up out of her throat.

Who had a party for someone returning from _prison_ in the first place?

She'd gotten the brief explanation from Antonin, who filled her in on the details after Riddle had invited her to come along. Apparently, Rabastan was brother to Rodolphus, and he'd been held in Angola, the State Prison, for roughly over two years. All of the gang were eager to welcome him back and wanted to show him a roaring party. When she'd asked why he'd gone to prison, Antonin had just laughed at her, walking away.

She smoothed the front of her her dress down her body, having found the location of the speakeasy at last. Her dress was second hand, but she'd become increasingly conscious of Abraxas's barbs about her ill fashion sense, so she'd decided that she had to get something new. The pink dress was poorly tailored to her body, and the color would probably suit someone with different coloring better than her, but it was satin and it fit, and it was certainly a bit more upscale than the frocks that she typically wore.

Making sure that she was alone on the street, Hermione looked left and right, before cautiously knocking in the memorized rhythm on the metal door. A slot in the door quickly opened, and a pair of dark eyes stared at her from the other side, before the door cracked open silently. Stepping inside, she nodded at the doorman, before stepping down the stairs to wear the party was already in full swing.

It was incredibly raucous, a jazz band playing in the corner, while party goers danced happily. She could barely see through the cigar smoke, but she walked in slowly, feeling incredibly nervous the whole while. Hermione didn't see anyone that she recognized, and looking around at all the glamorous women in attendance, she couldn't help but feel incredibly out of place in her frumpy pink dress. She could just imagine what Abraxas would have to say about it, her cheeks heating up.

Just as she was considering slinking out before she bumped into anyone, Antonin caught her attention. "Hermione!" He waved her over, his booming, accented voice cutting through the music and the crowd noise. "Come, you must meet Rabastan."

Cautiously, she walked forward to the table that Antonin was seated at, along with Rodolphus and a man and a woman that Hermione didn't know. Rodolphus gave her a smile, his cheeks ruddy from the drinking. "Hermione, let me introduce you to my baby brother, Rabastan." He had his arm around the man, who Hermione was honestly shocked was his brother. They looked like polar opposites, Rabastan being broader, covered in sinew, with shifty sea green eyes. "Hermione here is our new chemist. You should smell the warehouse brother - we will have whiskey soon enough." Hermione took Rabastan's offered hand, but she could tell that he was suspicious of her.

The other woman at the table huffed, annoyed at not being introduced. "So this is the little _tart_ that Tommy picked up? I was expecting someone a bit more...captivating." She sneered, her black hair pulled back in barely contained curls.

"Well, she doesn't have to be captivating to be good at her job." Rabastan said, cocking his head to the side. "Though I would say that she has potential."

Hermione was quite annoyed to be talked about like she wasn't even standing there in hearing range. Of course, she realized that she wasn't nearly glamorous enough for this party, but she could do without the constant digs to her physical appearance. Trying to take hold of the situation and make it clear to the other woman that she wasn't going to be pushed around, she pushed her jaw out. "And you are?" She tried to give her best snotty woman impression.

"They call me Bella Donna." The woman said. Obviously, Hermione had made an enemy. "And I am _just_ as deadly as nightshade, so don't you forget it."

The threat hung in the air for a few moments, before Antonin started laughing. Rodolphus and Rabastan quickly joined in. "More like Crazy Bella! No one has _ever_ called you Bella Donna, Bellatrix." He rolled his eyes. "That would be like saying people called me Fat Tony." Antonin offered a hand to Hermione, to pull her towards the bar. "Hermione, you are without a drink. Let's get you some champagne."

She was happy to leave the seething woman behind, knowing that the woman, Bella, would forever be associated her with the embarrassment. Following Antonin like a lost puppy, she leaned against the bar, while he asked for a coupe glass full of champagne. Handing it to her once he got it, Antonin smiled at her. "Don't worry about Rodolphus's wife, Bellatrix. She wants to be a part of the gang so badly, she often inserts herself. I think she is all bark and no bite."

Hermione nodded, taking a healthy drink of the bubbly liquid. Just as she was about to make small talk with Antonin, who seemed to be the only one who wanted to be friendly with her, he was pulled away into conversation with the man next to him. Turning, Hermione looked across the room to see if Riddle was there.

Her attention was taken by easily the largest man she'd ever seen in her whole life. He was taller than everyone in the room, and he had a beautiful woman on either side, tiny hands resting on bulging biceps. His shirt was open several buttons in the heat of the room, and she could see an abundance of chest hair. He was almost like an odd caricature of masculinity. Still, there was something intriguing, attractive about him. He had a gleaming white smile, dark hair, and bright blue eyes.

Perhaps he noticed her eyes burning into his form, because the next moment, he'd locked eyes with her, and gave her a suggestive wink and gesture. Hermione flushed with excitement and embarrassment, her attention dropping to the champagne glass, draining the rest of the liquid in two gulps.

"I wouldn't get to close to him." Hot breath caressed the shell of her ear, the words spoken so low that only she could hear. Her head snapped up, and she was surprised to see Tom Riddle standing next to her, his body practically pressed into hers.

Hating being told what to do, Hermione was curious. "And why is that, Mister Riddle?"

"Wouldn't you say that we are close enough, now, that you might call me Tom?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"Only if you call me Hermione." She said, knowing that this was a significant shift in their relationship, moving from mere associates to something more. "But you didn't answer my question - you said that I shouldn't get close to him, but haven't given me a single good reason not to."

"That-" Tom raised his glass, finger pointing towards the burly man, "is Fenrir Greyback." She could smell the smoky scent of whiskey on his breath, and Hermione was surprised to feel a shiver race down her spine. She didn't think that she'd ever been this close to Tom before, and she was realizing that this was the first time she'd spoken to him since he'd kissed her fingers.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" She asked, a bit haughtily, but she had honestly never heard that name before.

"I sometimes forget how naive you are." Tom said with a laugh. "Fenrir is one of the best hitmen that New Orleans has ever seen. I can't even tell you how many people he's killed in his life, but he's killed at least a dozen on my orders." Hermione stiffened at his words, a chill creeping down her spine, and the teasing atmosphere evaporating away. "But that's not the worst of it."

Hermione swallowed thickly, remembering the lascivious look that Fenrir had given her. "What could be worse than murder?" Her mind not being able to conjure up much worse than that.

"For as long as I can remember, their have been rumors about him being a bit...unnatural." Tom said, drinking in the fearful expression on her face. "The way that I've heard it, Fenrir is a rougarou. And if you get to close, I'd be worried that he might take a bit out of you." Hermione paled hearing that. You couldn't grow up in New Orleans without hearing the legend of the rougarou, men that were possessed by a lupin spirit, and transformed into animals at night. "I suppose that's why he's the best at what he does. Killing is animalistic, and Fenrir relishes in it."

Hermione frowned, suddenly forced to confront just what kind of company she was keeping. All of these people that she'd become integrated with were dangerous. Tom had talked about killing, and ordering murders like it was nothing. Honestly, bootlegging was probably the tamest thing that they did. Suddenly, she was overcome with the need to get out of the speakeasy, and back to her little flat in the French Quarter. She set her empty glass on the bar.

"Oh, would you like another drink?" Tom asked, realizing that he'd been remiss as a host, completely unable to read the shift in her mood.

She shook her head, giving him an apologetic look. "Thank you, but no. I have a bit of studying to do before classes begin. I really should be going home." He looked as if he was going to argue with her to stay, but before he could get the words out, she was fleeing out of the club and into the cool night air.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so excited that you are enjoying this odd little world I've been creating. If you would like, you can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter six and be on the lookout for chapter seven soon!

* * *

Despite all the pep talks that she had given herself in the days leading up to this moment, Hermione couldn't deny that she was incredibly nervous for her first day of classes. She was very worried that she wasn't going to be up to snuff when compared to the other studies in class. She knew all of the other students would be quite well off, have fully completed their education as children, and would be all male. Even though there would be some woman attending the University, Abraxas had been clear that she was the first woman to be admitted into the chemistry program, and she hoped that she would live up to expectations.

The morning that she started her classes, she got up early to bath and do something with her hair. She wanted to make a good impression, so she wrangled her wavy hair into a neat French braid that hung halfway down her back. She'd eaten her breakfast in a silk robe on her tiny balcony, looking out at the sleepy city below her, enjoying the way that the sun's rays peeked up over the rooftops.

After she'd taken the time to enjoy her morning, she got dressed in her only Abraxas approved dress. "I've seen everything you wear at this point," he'd told her snidely the night before, "and I insist that you wear the green skirt with the cream colored blouse. Don't forget, Juniper will be taking you shopping as soon as is humanly possible." Hermione had rolled her eyes, but when it came time to don her outfit for the day, she took Abraxas's advice. He was part of that world, after all, so it stood to reason that he would know what was appropriate.

She was nervous about meeting the woman that could have captured Abraxas's heart to such a degree that he would care about her opinion so much.

She knew it was going to be a hot day, so she did curse Abraxas for selecting one of her heavier skirts, but left her flat happily enough, before making her way down to the trolley to take it across town. Paying her fare, she settled next to an open window and watched the city pass by, until they were finally at the sprawling green lawns of Tulane.

Having studied the campus map previously, Hermione was able to find her classroom with relative ease. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand against the door, pushing it open, trying to exude confidence.

The tittering began as soon as she entered the room, which personally, Hermione thought was better suited to the back room of a seamstress shop, rather than a chemistry department. Immediately, a very good looking man with curly blond hair came up to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Miss, I am sure that you are in the wrong place. The merchandising building is the next one over."

A tall, gangly redheaded man laughed out loud at his words. "Ha, merchandising? Look at her!"

Hermione immediately flushed at the insinuation, but bit her tongue. Another boy, with perfectly parted brown hair and a very average build smirked in agreement. "Yes, I bet she is her for a typing class. Send her over across the quad."

The man with his arm around her shoulder began moving her towards the door, only to come face to face with the Head of the Department, Professor Snape. "I assure you, Mr. McLaggen, that Miss Granger is in the correct classroom." The handsome man - McLaggen - went a bit limp at the admonishment, allowing Hermione to slip out from under his grasp. She straightened her blouse, before finding an empty spot at one of the tables.

"Mr. Weasley, since you are so keen on identifying what something _should be_ by sight, will you tell the class what the compound on the desk is?" Professor Snape asked imperiously. He spoke softly, but his voice was so deep that it practically reverberated through the classroom.

Weasley looked to be wearing hand-me-down clothes, and clearly wasn't a member of the upper crust like so many of their classmates. Hermione thought that she might have found a kindred spirit in him, if he hadn't been so intent on making up for his own insecurities by putting other people down. He'd turned a rather bright red color having been caught by the head of their program. "Um, that looks like table sugar, Professor." He said, but his tone of voice suggested that he wasn't at all confident in his answer.

"Would you care to eat some of it, to determine if you are correct in your assessment, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape sneered at the man.

"No thank you, sir." Weasley responded, his shoulder drooping.

"What about you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" Professor Snape asked, rounding on the average looking boy with the poshest voice. "What do you think that this is?"

Finch-Fletchley at least took the time to approach the front table and look the compound over, but in the end he came up empty handed. "Table salt, sir?"

"Dunderheads, the lot of you. Would anyone else like to make a guess?" All of her male classmates kept their heads down, not wanting to make eye contact with the Professor. Hermione, sensing that this was an opportunity, shot her hand up in the air, eager to give it a go. Professor Snape said, before settling his black eyes on Hermione's shoulders. "Well, Miss Granger, perhaps you would like to give it a go. Prove to me that it wasn't a mistake to allow you into a program as prestigious as mine."

Hermione calmly walked to the front of the class, knowing that this would just be one of many times that she would have to prove herself to her male classmates. She could agree with Weasley that it did look a bit like sugar, but the white crystalline substance was not something so commonplace. Using her hand to waft over the table, she was able to identify the slight almond scent.

Clearing her throat, she met the gaze of her Professor. "Potassium Cyanide, sir. Identifiable by it's colorless crystalline structure and scent of almonds, it is a compound typically used in jewelry making. It is highly toxic and deliquescent, which means that-"

"Thank you, that is _quite_ enough, Miss Granger. You could have just identified what it was, and returned to your station." Professor Snape cut her off with a sneer. "I don't need you to spout the book off to me just because you can." That had the rest of the class stifling laughter, while Hermione blushed once again, before returning to her seat. From behind his desk, Professor Snape sneered at the rest of the class. "Even though Miss Granger might be a know-it-all, it is clear that she is the only one who has done the required reading before class."

Hermione was unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk off of her face. It would show them to underestimate her.

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Hermione found herself enjoying the company of the men that spent their time at the warehouse when she was distilling. Antonin had become a rather good friend to her, even defending her to the others when they teased her a little bit too mercilessly. He'd eventually revealed that he saw similarities between them, because of them both being orphans. She found that she rather agreed with him, though he often had quite the temper that Hermione couldn't quite match.

Rodolphus and Rabastan did their best to make her laugh at their raunchy jokes, and Rabastan took every chance that he could to ask Hermione out on a date. She denied him every time, mostly thinking that he was just trying to be funny and that he didn't actually _want_ to date her. Rodolphus had similarly made a pass at her, but she turned him down flat reminding him that he had a _lovely_ wife, who was likely to put a knife in her back if she found out. Rodolphus had snorted at that, but didn't try anything with her again.

She got the feeling that though he was incredibly annoyed with her fashion, Abraxas had even warmed up to her over time.

The only one who hadn't warmed up to her was Rosier, who thought Hermione was terribly naive, and wasn't afraid to berate her about it. He was constantly telling Tom that she was going to run and snitch to the police, and despite her frequent promises that she wouldn't, it seemed that there was nothing she could tell Rosier to change her mind. He kept a very _close_ eye on her, which always gave her a bit of a creeping feeling.

Tom Riddle was the one that _she_ hadn't really warmed up to. Well, she had been warming up to him, but then he had to go and ruin it when he told her the truth about the man at the party, Fenrir Greyback. She was rather positive that Tom _enjoyed_ frightening her, ripping the blinders off of her and reminding her of the kind of people she was reluctantly working with. All of the men at the warehouse were _bad_ men, willing to go to great lengths for a bit of money and power. They'd pulled her into this illegal underground and she didn't enjoy having her face rubbed in it. The whole incident had rather soured her interactions with the handsome man.

For Riddle's part, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was upset with him, and she wondered if he even thought about how abruptly she'd left the party. Instead, he always made sure to talk to her, standing close to her, and make her heart beat a bit faster whenever she stopped in to check on the distillation process. And argue with her of course.

"Most whiskey is distilled for _years_ ," Hermione argued with her patron that day, hands on her hips. She'd grown steadily more bossy the more comfortable she got around them. "This hasn't even been in the barrel for a _month_. It's too soon."

Tom laughed. "The people who are buying this don't care how long it's been aged, they just want to get drunk. It's been in there long enough to get some color, we have to start bottling it." His normally perfect hair was looking a bit ruffled and Hermione found herself clenching her fists to stop from reaching up and fixing it. "Our supply is running low and demand has only gone up. We need it now, Hermione." He tried a bit more softly.

Recognizing that there was no point in arguing any longer, she just shrugged, and nodded to the guys who were itching to open up the first cask. "If you are going to insist on this kind of turn around, not letting the spirit age properly, then we should make gin. No aging involved."

He gave her a slow smirk, his blue eyes drinking her in. "Have you been reading up on alcohol, princess?"

Hermione was surprised at the light brown color of the whiskey, spilling out an into crystal glasses for Tom and his men to sample.

"Fuck, that's smooth." Antonin complemented, having taken a hearty sip of the liquid. He shoved his glass into her hand. "Try it, Hermione." He encouraged, wanting her to have a part of the fruits of her labor, seeing as she was the only one who hadn't been offered a glass.

Hesitantly, she pressed the glass to her lips, breathing in the sweet smell, the inside of her nose being burned by the strong vapor. Knowing that she couldn't wait any longer, she let the liquid pass her lips, hitting her tastebuds. Before she knew what was happening, she was sputtering and coughing from just how strong the drink was.

The laughter of Tom and the rest of his associates was deafening, and she knew that she was blushing. Oh, she wished she wouldn't have listened to Antonin and taken a sip. She could barely tolerate champagne, she didn't know why she would have thought she could handle whiskey.

Antonin, smiling, pat her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mishka." He said, a term of endearment that she didn't understand. "This is cask strength, so it is quite strong. We will add water before bottling it." It was good to hear that, though it didn't really make her feel that much better. "We will have to slowly introduce you to alcohol, but what you've made is quite good, even if you don't believe it currently."

"Yes, Miss Granger, this first attempt is above and beyond what I've expected of you." Tom told her, swallowing what was left in his glass. "If you will step into the office, I will pay you for the first batch, and I think you will find that this is the beginning of an incredibly lucrative working relationship." For some reason, the thought of being in any kind of _relationship_ with Tom made her heart skip a beat.

"Finally!" Abraxas cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I can have Juniper take you shopping now. We will be by on Saturday morning, eight o'clock sharp."

Hermione agreed numbly, wondering what shops were open quite that early. She was terrified of meeting Juniper Malfoy, but was looking forward to getting some female perspective on her wardrobe. She followed Tom to the office, and graciously took the wad of money he offered, her eyes widening when she saw the amount that she could make from just one batch.

Maybe this moon-shining gig wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Harry Potter hadn't gotten to be the youngest detective in the police force by being stupid. He knew exactly which bribes to take, when to look the other way, and when someone was lying. As soon as he'd spoken to Hermione Granger, the shop girl at Ollivander's Pharmacy, he'd known that she knew _much_ more than she let on, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Normally, he wouldn't have cared quite so much about it, but the victim of the murder was significant in the force, seeing as Adrian Pucey had been on the force himself, and his father was very high up to boot. He'd narrowed in on Adrian's beautiful wife, Daphne, right away, but he knew that Lieutenant Pucey wouldn't want his daughter-in-law's name run through the mud, which meant that the blame was going to have to be shifted.

And shop girls were somewhat dispensable.

He could admit that he underestimated Hermione Granger. He thought that perhaps she had just been tricked into selling the poison to Daphne, but as soon as he'd interviewed her, he knew different. She was very sharp and precise, if her notes were anything to go by, and she would have known that the requested amount of arsenic was much higher than what would be used to deal with a little rat poison. He began to wonder if perhaps this wasn't the first time that Hermione Granger had done such a thing for a greedy housewife. As if that weren't suspicious enough, there was also the matter of her burnt fingers and insistence that she was going to be a student of chemistry at Tulane. Harry wasn't entirely sure _which_ of those stories had been less believable.

So, Harry had dug a bit deeper into Hermione's past. Her father had been a rather well known dentist, but through some series of tragedies, Hermione had been left an orphan. Harry could sympathize with that, seeing as he'd been orphaned at a young age himself. However, unlike him, Hermione didn't have a kindly, wealthy friend of his parents who took her in. She'd been able to secure a job at Ollivander's somehow and find herself a nice enough flat, though not in the nicest area of town.

A trip to visit Granger's landlord proved fruitless. She always paid her rent on time or in advance, and she had never been late a single time. She had no strange male visitors, like some of the other single girls that lived there. Without a warrant he knew he couldn't get into her apartment, but he did chat with her next door neighbor, a jazz musician by the name of Longbottom. The tall blond had been rather protective of her, though when pressed on their relationship, Longbottom had blushed and denied that they were anything but friendly neighbors.

His next trip had been to the chemistry department at Tulane University, where he had confirmed that Granger really was a student there, and that she had just started there. The dean, a Professor Snape, had answered Harry's questions quite tersely, but hadn't elaborated on the circumstances that had brought her to the school but had confirmed that she was a brilliant student and doing quite well there.

Harry had tried to press a bit harder to see if he could learn the identity of her sponsor, knowing that it would be a good lead to follow up on, but Professor Snape had rebuffed him sharply. "We are not in the business of giving out our private and _confidential_ financial information, Potter." The Professor had refused to call him Detective, no matter how many reminders he was given. "If I hear anything about you further harassing _any_ of my students, Miss Granger or otherwise, I will be forced to make a complaint with your superior."

He didn't need to be told twice. It was one thing to have a random citizen like Longbottom complain, but if a complaint were to come from a Dean at a well respected University like Tulane, Harry knew that he would be in quite a bit of trouble for ruffling feathers.

That didn't mean that he was giving up on Hermione Granger, though. He knew that she was up to something, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! So glad you guys are enjoying this story and the little world I've built up. This one has the long awaited shopping trip, haha! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter seven and be on the lookout for chapter eight soon!

* * *

"Saint Louis No. 2. Dominique You. Sunset." The cryptic note was left on Harry's desk when he returned to the office, and he recognized the handwriting immediately. Cursing the man, Harry wondered just how brazen Tom Riddle must be to waltz into the police department himself and leave a note for a detective such as himself. Harry was taking bribes, yes, but he didn't really want it shouted from the rooftops.

Still, it wasn't difficult for him to decipher the note. After he completed his work for the day, Harry left the office and made his way to the Saint Louis Number Two cemetery, and cursed the man once again for choosing a cemetery to meet in. It wasn't the most idyllic location to meet during the day, and Harry really didn't want to go in at night, when the fog would roll in off of the lake and the creatures would come out. Harry was an extremely superstitious man, and something about entering a place of the dead during the night just made his skin crawl.

It also didn't take a genius to figure out that Riddle wanted him to meet at the grave of Dominique You. Harry snorted audibly at that, knowing that of course Riddle would want to meet at the grave of such a notorious pirate, knowing that Riddle was a smuggler himself. It made sense that the man would look up to You.

The cemetery was eerie, and empty, and alive. All the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and in the dim light, the only evidence of any other humans were the twin embers of light cigarettes next to a tall monument. Harry didn't have to guess to know that it was Tom. He just wondered which one of his associates he had brought with this time. He hoped it wasn't Fenrir Greyback, seeing as the man made him nervous every time they interacted. Harry wasn't naive - he knew exactly what all of these men were capable of.

To his relief, when he finally made his way over to the two men, he was glad to see that Abraxas Malfoy had accompanied Riddle. It was obvious that Malfoy's main job was financials - helping to bank roll their little operation, and launder money clean when they needed it. Harry was well aware that Malfoy didn't exactly like to get his hands dirty.

"Well, what do you want?" Harry asked, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, hating the way that he was being called to speak with Riddle as though he was a lapdog.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that you were _enjoying_ our little relationship, _Detective_ Potter." Riddle sneered at him. "I heard that you just bought a house, and rumor has it that you are going to ask for the Weasley girl's hand in marriage."

Malfoy snorted next to his friend. "Really Potter, couldn't you do better than a Weasley? They are so poor." Only someone with as much money as Malfoy could be so disparaging about another person's wealth, as though that's all they were worth.

"Yes, well, I suppose that he'd only be scraping by if it weren't for me." Riddle flicked his cigarette on the ground, near Harry's feet, looking at the Detective dispassionately. "And I can bring this new life he's settled into crashing down around him. Listen Potter, I don't pay you to get lip from you when I ask you to meet me somewhere, understand?"

Harry swallowed thickly, hating the way that he was so easily cowed by the man. He wished he could stand up for himself once, but he knew that there was some other enterprising detective waiting in the wings to take his place, should Tom Riddle ever get fed up. Riddle was more likely to shoot him than to try and work something out. "Of course Riddle. Just, could you pick somewhere else next time? You know I hate cemeteries."

Riddle raised one dark eyebrow in question. Of course, Harry knew that it was probably a location chosen for that percise reason, as Riddle liked keeping people on tilt. "You are aware of the casino in Audubon?"

Harry nodded. How could he not know about it? It had the reputation as a bit of an opium den, but it's primary use was as a casino for the wealthy lay abouts from the nearby University. It was said that the house made quite a lot of money, based on their wealthy clientele, and it was the same reason that the police had generally kept away from it. "Sure, what about it?"

"Well, let's just say, it's going to be under new ownership soon." Tom said, a smile on his face, that looked out of place even on his handsome visage. Harry knew that it was likely to be the location of a very violent take over.

"So, what do you want me to do about it?" He asked, a bit dumbly. If Riddle wanted protection, he wasn't going to be able to provide it.

"All you have to do, is keep the cops as far away from Audubon as possible on Saturday night. We don't want any kind of interference, understand?" Tom reached into his vest and pulled out an off-white envelope, handing it to Harry.

Harry took the envelope eagerly, and opened it, only to be surprised with the number of bills that had been stuffed inside. He looked up at the other man, amazed that he would have this kind of money to throw around.

"Well?" Tom asked, pointedly. "Do you think that will be enough to keep all your brothers in blue away from our little excursion this weekend? I will not be stopped." He crossed his hands over his chest, waiting for Harry's answer.

"Consider it done." Harry promised, knowing that this was going to be quite a payday for himself once he'd payed the rest of the cops off. It felt wrong to accept, but at the same time, it was a lot of money, much more than he could turn down. This meant he would finally be able to purchase the engagement ring he'd been eyeing for Ginny. He just hoped that years down the line, he still thought the bribe was worth it.

* * *

As promised, the Malfoys arrived at her flat at eight a.m. sharp on Saturday morning. Hermione had put on the dress that she liked the most, blast what Abraxas thought about it, and had pulled out half of the money that she'd earned from Tom Riddle. The other half was safely tucked away in a vase that had belonged to her mother, one of the few possessions that she still had from her parents, hidden up high on a shelf.

While she had expected them to arrive, she did not expect them to actually come _into_ her flat. She was shocked to hear a firm pounding on the door, and she practically cursed seeing Abraxas's white blonde hair gleaming through the peep hole. Sliding the chain back from the door, she cursed under her breath and opened the door a peek, hoping they wouldn't see the absolute disaster that was inside.

For having such good manners, Abraxas was surprisingly cavalier about being invited inside. Well, Hermione mused, at least she knew that he wasn't a vampire; one could never be too sure now that she knew Riddle kept the company of someone who purported to be a rougaroux. "Christ, Granger! And here I was worried about the state of your wardrobe. How on Earth can you live in this hovel? Just wait until I tell Tom."

Hermione winced, looking around her tiny apartment. It was just a studio, with books stacked and piled high, and no real furniture except for her unmade bed in one corner half hidden by a screen, and the tiny table in her kitchen. "I wasn't expecting guests." Hermione said tersely.

A cleared throat brought her attention to the woman in the hallway. Juniper Malfoy was without a doubt one of the most effortlessly beautiful women that Hermione had ever seen. Her hair was a rather rich, almost reddish brown, pulled halfway up, the rest of it spilling down her back in perfect curls. "Mrs. Malfoy, please come in." Hermione said, sweeping her hand inside, waiting for the woman to enter her domain so that she could shut the door behind her. The last thing that she wanted to do was expose her neighbors to this debacle. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"So you are my husband's city mistress?" She asked, her blue eyes filled with mirth, her lips quirked while she looked Hermione up and down. It was clear that the woman wasn't worried for an instant that Hermione might actually steal her husband away.

"As you can see, I would never touch her with a ten foot pole." Abraxas commented from her kitchen, where he was looking at the pile of unwashed dishes with disgust.

Hermione ignored his words, before returning her attention to the other woman standing in her apartment. "Could I offer you some tea, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Please, call me Juniper." She replied, gloved hands clutching a purse daintily. "I just wanted a chance to review your wardrobe before we went out to the shops, but I see now that we should have rang ahead." Hermione smiled, but did not comment on her lack of a telephone.

"Well, in that case, I will show you what I have." Hermione urged Juniper to follow her, showing her the clothing that she kept on a little rolling rack. It wasn't very much, but Hermione thought that she was very good about mixing and matching styles to ensure that she had a lot of options. Of course, none of it was the newest fashion from France, but personally, Hermione thought it was all quite nice.

Juniper hmmed and hawed at the clothing that Hermione had, pulling out one or two pieces that she thought were lovely. "You have a good start here, Miss Granger." Juniper said with a smile. "But there is still much room for improvement. You were right to bring me here, Braxy." Hermione wanted to giggle at the term of endearment that she was certain she would never let Abraxas live down, but before she could think on it too long, Juniper was linking her arm through Hermione's. "Come on, then. We have a lot to do today."

It was a short car ride later that they were in the shop of Juniper's favorite tailor. Abraxas had kissed his wife on the cheek, before telling her that he would be just next door to enjoy a coffee, before leaving the two women alone to their devices. Juniper sat primly on a pink couch, staring up at Hermione while the tailor took her measurements, while she looked through a sample book.

Once she was done, Hermione joined Juniper on the couch, and looked through the book, pointing out styles that she liked. "What about this one?" Hermione queried, thinking that the skirt and blouse combination looked rather modern.

Juniper made a small noise of agreement. "The skirt would be lovely on you, Hermione." Before flipping a few pages back. "But I think that this style of blouse would be much better suited to your bone structure."

After they had gone through the lookbooks, Hermione let Juniper handle the actual ordering of all of her clothes. She tried not to show how shocked she was by the price. It was true that she could afford the new clothing thanks to the hefty payment from Tom, but it didn't mean that it wasn't the most that she'd ever spent in her entire life. "Thank you for all your help, Juniper. Maybe now Abraxas will finally let up on telling me that I look like a destitute orphan who got dressed in the dark."

Juniper laughed at Hermione's assessment of her husband's behavior. "Hermione, you _do_ have a sense of style." She told the younger girl reassuringly, before linking arms with her again. "But, you just need to learn what works best for your shape and coloring. And you must forgive my husband. I can't imagine why he would think that he was the leading authority on women's fashion, but you should have seen how he dressed before I met him."

Hermione couldn't hide her giggle at that, thinking that it was rather funny to imagine Abraxas in some old fashioned bloomers or some out of date French fashion. She couldn't wait for the day that she might call him out on some clothing, and she was determined to keep up to date with the fashion of the day, so that she would know when that time came. "Well, that's good to hear."

"Come now. Shall we go gather my idiot husband and head over to look at some makeup? I think he owes me some new perfume for dragging me away from my baby, don't you?" Juniper teased. Hermione murmured in agreement, thinking that maybe it wouldn't be completely terrible for her to get some advice from the more experienced woman. "You know, Hermione, I like you." Juniper pronounced, sweetly. "You simply _must_ come for dinner sometime."

Hermione could barely contain her surprise, wondering what a dinner with Abraxas and Juniper might be like. Still, it was wonderful to be making some new.. _._ well, _friends_ she supposed, so she enthusiastically agreed.

* * *

Tom stared at Antonin and Abraxas while they checked that their guns were working properly ahead of their plan to take over the Audubon casino. He'd checked his multiple times throughout the day and he was certain that if he was going to need it, it would be a sure shot.

Not that he _wanted_ to resort to violence if he didn't have to. The Audubon was a perfectly good casino, and he was positive that it was netting a lot of money. It was just that, well, he ran New Orleans, and no one gambled in the city unless it was approved by _him_. And the Audubon was currently not approved, as he found his pockets tragically empty of his cut. He sneered, thinking of how those rich pricks thought that they could do something in the city _without_ him knowing.

But, if he had to show them the barrel of a gun to get them to comply, he had absolutely no problems with killing someone to get the rest in line. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Are you sure you want me to come with?" Abraxas whined. "You know that I've never been your muscle, Tommy. And, well, Lucius is just a baby. I can't go to jail."

Tom rolled his eyes at his blond friend. Of course he knew that Abraxas as _nearly_ worthless as muscle. The only reason he was really going with was for his name. Otherwise, he was certain that they wouldn't be able to get into the Audubon without injuring someone. But, the Malfoy name was synonymous with money, and that would ensure their unimpeded entry. "Don't worry, you won't go to jail, Abraxas. You heard Potter."

"Yes, well, Potter doesn't run the _whole_ police force does he?" Abraxas snapped, before realizing just who he was arguing with. He took a steadying breath. "I just think that someone else might be better suited. You know that Rabastan has been itching to fight ever since he got out of prison."

"Christ, you aren't going to go to jail." Antonin finally snapped, all of his patience for the blond man quickly draining. Tom felt reassured to have Antonin on his side, knowing that the Russian man was more than capable of handling himself. When they met each other for the very short summer that Antonin was in the orphanage before he ran away, Tom know that they had similar spirits. Yes, Antonin was a bit rougher around the edges - he didn't quite have the innate charm that Tom knew he possessed - but he was loyal, and Tom was positive that he would have his back if things got hot.

"Yes, Abraxas, Antonin and I will handle all of the talking and all of the shooting, if it comes down to it. Just try and hold the gun and look competent. Try not to look like it's your first time holding one." Tom instructed, taking a bit of a softer tone. He knew that he needed to give Abraxas _some_ slack because it was true that he was a new father. That meant he was bound to be a bit more nervous than usual.

"I _have_ used a gun before." Abraxas scoffed.

"Really? Then prove it!" Antonin taunted, more used to needling his friend than Tom was.

Once he was positive that they had everything sorted, Tom lead the other two out to the car. It was a short drive from their warehouse to the Audubon casino, which was doing little to disguise its true purpose. It made Tom a little bit angry to know that these young, University men didn't need to hide what they were doing all because they had the _right connections_ , while he was forced to skulk around underground.

Tom walked next to Abraxas, and just as expected the doorman was falling over himself to let Abraxas in. "Oh, Mister Malfoy. We weren't expecting you tonight." He said, as though Abraxas had _ever_ stepped through the doors before. "Come inside, please, we will have our best table prepared for you immediately. You can see everything that's going on - and you'll have the best view of the dancing girls." He teased.

Perhaps he would later think of this as a bad decision, but Tom was so fed up of being treated differently than some of these bluebloods and he lost his temper. As soon as the doorman let them cross the threshold, he turned on the larger man, grabbing his poorly fitting tuxedo by the collar, and shoved his gun under the doorman's fat throat. "We want to speak with whoever is in charge around here, immediately." Tom said with a sneer. "The Audubon is under new management now."

The doorman swallowed thickly, but he nodded quickly, happy to comply if he could keep his life.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I know a lot of you were surprised and interested that Harry was taking bribes - I just wanted to tell you it is mostly just because his whole police department is taking bribes. This is definitely something that is going to come up in the future, so definitely pay attention to it. I really enjoyed this chapter, so I hope you do too! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter eight and be on the lookout for chapter nine soon!

* * *

Hermione walked into the warehouse purposefully, no longer the nervous little mouse that she had once been, scurrying around and trying to keep out of the eyesight of the men that worked there. She felt more confident now, striding over to her little set up station to check on the progress of her most recent batch of alcohol. She'd learned the instructions for making alcohol right away and committed it to memory. It was deceptively easy.

Recently, she'd branched into trying to distill alternative kinds of alcohol. Tom had given her some latitude to do what she thought was best seeing as her first batch of whiskey had sold exceedingly well. Hermione had gathered the ingredients to make gin, something that she planned on calling Juniper, for her new friend, whom she exchanged regular notes with. She hoped that she would have it ready in time for the inevitable dinner invitation that she knew was coming.

Antonin was always teasing her, and trying to get her to try making vodka, but no one was too excited about it other than him. Still, the man had been so kind of her, that she had promised him as soon as she had finished off the gin, she would start on it.

"Oh, there she is." Rabastan said, cutting her off when she made it down the hallway and onto the floor. He wrapped one arm low around her back - _much_ lower than she was comfortable with - while the other grasped her hand, spinning her around in a complicated dance move. Rabastan was quite the gifted dancer, but it certainly didn't explain why she was being held close to him. Sensing her discomfort, Rabastan pulled away from her, looking her up and down. "See, Dolph, didn't I tell you that she had _potential_? Just look at her now."

Hermione blushed and kept her hands firmly by her sides, trying to stop the impulse to fidget with her new clothes. It was true that Juniper had quite the eye for clothing, but she was still getting used to how the bespoke skirts and dresses _clung_ to all her womanly curves. It had attracted significant attention, and she still didn't care being looked at like _that_.

"Oi, leave my chemist alone." Tommy said teasingly from the door of his office, unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. "I think we can all agree that Mrs. Malfoy lived up to her reputation when she revealed Hermione's rather _eye-catching_ form, but I won't have you scaring her off with your brutishness, Rab." Tom gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Hermione scoffed at him, unsure of if she should be glad that he deflected all the attention off of her, or if she should be annoyed that he'd made a joke about her looks as well. She couldn't quite process that he actually might find her form pleasing; she was quite positive that all of them would run in horror should she actually take them up on any of their offers for attention.

Rabastan guffawed, before pulling Hermione close to him once again. "So true. I should send Juniper a thank you note." He let his hand drop entirely too low, and Hermione swatted him, none too gently, on the arm. "Oh, you wound me, Miss Granger. What do you say you make it up to me by coming dancing with me? I'm headed to the most exclusive jazz club in town." With his rakish good looks and light green eyes, it seemed insane to turn him down, but Hermione knew what she would be getting into should she take him up on the offer. He was known as a King of Armored Car Robbery, after all.

"I'm afraid she can't do that." Tom said, an edge barely detectable in his voice. Hermione wondered, was it possible that he could be jealous of the way that Rabastan was flirting with her? "Hermione has already promised to help me with the books tonight."

Hermione looked at Tom a bit bewildered, wondering when exactly she'd promised to do that. Still, she was thankful for the excuse. "Yes - be careful Rabastan. I might actually take you up on your offer some day." She teased back, before taking a few steps to stand next to Tom.

"If you change your mind, lovely, the Cat Eye Club will be waiting for you!" Rabastan said, before heading out of the warehouse, his large brother, Rodolphus in tow.

Once the brothers were gone, Hermione gave Tom a shy smile. "Thanks for that. Rabastan can be very persistent." She explained. "Well, I'll just check on my mash, and then I will be on my way." She said, trying not to get distracted by the sight of his bare forearms, revealed by rolled up sleeves.

Tom leaned against the door frame, lighting his cigarette while staring at her. "I do have some work you could help me out with." He said with a shrug. "It will go faster with two people instead of one. Just counting some money." Hermione was surprised that he would trust her with something like money, but she nodded anyway, knowing that she didn't have anywhere to be after she checked her mash anyhow. Going to handle things with the alcohol, she hurried back to his office, trying not to seem too eager.

To be honest, Hermione was a little bit nervous, spending time alone with Tom. There was something about him that always made her feel out of sorts. Off kilter. She couldn't deny that he was _quite_ handsome. If she didn't know any additional details about his personal life, she would have been quite excited to even speak to someone like him. But, she _did_ know about his personal life, and how he seemed to relish in living his gangster lifestyle.

Slipping into the seat opposite him, Hermione's eyes widened at seeing the stacks of money laid out in front of them. "Wow." She said quietly. "Just where did all of this come from?" She asked, before realizing that she might not need to know.

"A casino called the Audubon." Tom said, before pushing her several stacks of money. "We are just recounting these. Make sure that the amount is the same as is marked on the little tag around it." He instructed, before returning to his own work.

"I didn't realize that you were in the gambling business." Hermione said quietly. Why wouldn't he be in gambling, though, Hermione wondered, considering all of his other shady business dealings, including bribing police officers, smuggling contraband, and of course, moonshining and bootlegging illegal alcohol. Honestly, gambling seemed rather tame in comparison.

Tom looked at her with a smirk. "I own all the casinos in New Orleans." He said proudly. "There isn't a game of craps on a corner that I'm not aware of. And if someone tries to operate one without my knowledge, well…" He trailed off.

It was at moment that Hermione identified some of the red substance on the bills that were in front of her. "Tom, there's blood on these bills." She said, staring in horror at the table, feeling her stomach turning in notes at the thought of her _touching_ them. "Why is there blood on this?" She asked him, not entirely sure that she even wanted to know the answer.

"Well, as I said, if someone tries to operate a casino without my express consent, they will be handled. And the Audubon had to be handled." Tom said, matter-of-factly, and she had the sneaking suspicion that he didn't understand why she would be so upset about it. "Let's just say that their manager was slightly resistant to coming under new management, but he isn't a problem any longer."

Hermione stood up from the table, pushing the money back towards Tom, a strangled cry being pulled from low in her throat. "Christ Tom! Don't you think there is something wrong with the fact that you see nothing wrong with resorting to violence?"

Tom sneered at her, clearly annoyed that she was reacting, it could be said, a bit hysterically. "You better get used to it!" He yelled back at her, grabbing her hands so that she would stop inspecting them for blood. "It's a part of the world you are in now, sweetheart. Don't act so innocent, as if you don't have blood on your hands as well. You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this."

She snatched her hands back away from him, tears forming in her eyes. "Why must you delight in rubbing my face in the violent things that you do?" It was something that she wondered about quite frequently. As soon as she seemed to be settling in, letting her guard down around Riddle or the other's, he had to do something to show her just what despicable people she'd surrounded herself with. "I'm leaving." She told him tersely, turning around and stomping out of the office, pleased when he didn't try to follow or stop her.

* * *

Hermione swirled the glass stick in her Erlenmeyer flask, watching as her mixture turned from a clear liquid to a opaque milky white, with a bit of precipitate forming at the meniscus. In her weeks since she'd been in classes, she'd found that she rather enjoyed everything, even though the rest of the class clearly did not want her there. They were constantly ignoring her input in group work, and she didn't have a partner for any of the lab work. All the better for her. She preferred to work along and their snubbing of her just made her more determined to work things out on her own.

Despite the snubbing of her classmates, there was so much to learn. Initially, Hermione had often felt that she was at a disadvantage from all these men who knew that they were going to go to University from the time that they were small. How could she possibly compete with any of them? But with careful work and patience, she quickly found herself rising up in the class list. Even Professor Snape had been noticing.

"Excellent work again, Miss Granger." Professor Snape said from his spot behind her. "Class, Miss Granger is the first to successfully complete the lab. I expect you to take note of her technique. She carefully measures, making sure that she does not waste any chemicals by having to redo the lab work, Mister Weasley." He sneered.

Hermione quickly figured out that Professor Snape adored complimenting her work if it meant that he could inflict maximum embarrassment on her other classmates. Hermione had initially preened under the praise, but she quickly found that he didn't particularly care for her at all. He was very quick to give her biting criticism as well. "Next time, Miss Granger, try increasing the aqua fortis by five percent."

She turned to stare at him, bewildered. "Sir?" She questioned, "The lab instructions _clearly_ state that the liquids should be kept at a 4:1 ratio, and as you have already stated, I've completed the lab _quite_ successfully."

"You've completed it, yes. But I think you will find it much more successful should you increase the aqua fortis." Snape looked down at her, perhaps questioning why he ever attempted to impart any knowledge to the dunderheads who came through his classroom. "I think you will find that a little bit of _experimentation_ can get you ahead in life. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

Her cheeks turned bright red, and she wondered if he knew about her illegal alcohol production. She had certainly been experimenting a lot with the malt mixtures lately, trying to find a perfect blend. Had Abraxas told him about it? They did seem to be friends after all.

"Miss Granger, I would love to hear about your methods and techniques." Mister Cormac McLaggen said, once Professor Snape had left her side.

She brightened up at that, wondering if perhaps this was the time that her classmates were finally seeing her as the student she was. Giving McLaggen a shy smile, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "That would be lovely, McLaggen. I could stay after class if you'd like?" She offered, peeking over his shoulder to see the dull concoction that he had made.

"I was thinking we could discuss it over dinner instead?" McLaggen offered, giving her what she was sure he thought was an award winning smile. "You could wear that white dress you wore last week - I promise not to keep my hands to myself, if you catch my meaning?"

Hermione stared at him disgusted. It appeared that it wasn't just her cohorts at Riddle's warehouse who appreciated her new wardrobe. She was disappointed that McLaggen didn't seem interested in her input at a fellow student at all, and he was far more concerned with what she was hiding under her clothes. She could live with the men in her class ignoring her, but the constant harassment was grating.

Two men in particular, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Mr. Cormac McLaggen constantly pestered her to go on dates, even though she wouldn't dream of doing out with either of them. They'd follow her all the way to the streetcar stop, only leaving her be when she finally got on the trolley and rode away. McLaggen had been particularly disgusting, even once promising her a brilliant life that being his mistress could afford her….if she'd just spread her legs for him.

She thought about telling Tom about it, but decided against it, seeing as she was still quite put out with him for the way he'd treated her the other night. He still hadn't even tried to talk to her since their spectacular shouting match. And aside from the occasional touch or graze, her classmates hadn't done anything to her physically. If she ignored them, they would eventually go away.

Making her disdain known to McLaggen, she sneered at him. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull, McLaggen? I haven't agreed to go on any of the dates you'd asked me on previously and I am not going to go on a date with you now." She told him firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you want to discuss laboratory or school work - and believe me, you look like you could use the help - you can approach me during class, but otherwise, leave me the hell alone."

She heard several of the other men snickering at her dressing down of the cocky boy, but she didn't spare him another glance, instead content to clean up her station, and head home.

* * *

It was much later than usual when Hermione was finally able to leave the warehouse. She was in a critical stage of the distilling process and she had to wait beside her still until the step was complete. It was no trouble to her - she'd brought her homework with her, and the rest of the men kept to themselves, seeing as she was rather focused.

When it was finally time to leave, Hermione wrapped her cardigan around her arms, hoping to ward off the _slight_ chill that had settled across the city for her walk home. She hoped she would be okay walking alone, but it wasn't as if she had any other options at this point. Normally, it was still early enough in the evening when she left, that she felt perfectly safe, but tonight, she could just sense that something was different.

"Hermione, wait!" She heard Tom's voice call after her as soon as she'd turned the corner to hug the Mississippi River. Immediately, she halted her walk. It was the first time he'd spoken to her since their argument, and so it must be important if it was enough for him to chase her. When he finally caught up to her, he offered her his arm. "Please, allow me to escort you home. It's much too late for you to be out by yourself." Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Hermione cautiously took his arm, holding back a sigh at the feeling of his warmth sinking into her skin. She wondered if he just wanted to see where she lived, but she supposed he could have just asked Abraxas if that was what he was really after.

The silence stretched between them for several blocks, as Hermione didn't really know what to say to him. Eventually though, he spoke again. "I am sorry that we argued the other day." He said honestly. "I just want to make sure that you don't get any false impressions about me or the rest of my associates. We do dangerous work, and it's important that you remember that."

She stiffened at his words, sensing that there was more he wanted to say, but didn't allow himself to. Was he worried that she might get hurt? "Don't worry - I never forget what kind of people you are. I know that what we are doing is illegal." It was something that had initially bothered her immensely, knowing that she was making contraband. But then...her curiosity, thirst for knowledge, need for perfection got the better of her. She didn't particularly care if it was illegal at this point, not now that she knew she was good at it.

"Not even Antonin?" He asked, nudging her with his shoulder, in a teasing manner, though when she looked up at his face, it was impassive.

Hermione faltered for a moment. Was Tom _jealous_ of her relationship with Antonin? It wasn't as though they were interested in one another. On the contrary, their relationship was much more like a big brother trying to keep his kid sister in line. She snorted in amusement. "Especially Antonin. He tells me stories sometimes...and well, he is trying to get me to allow him to teach me how to shoot a gun."

She could feel Tom relax at her words, her assurance that she didn't hold Antonin on some kind of pedestal. "You should let him teach you." Tom told her seriously. "It would be good for you to be able to protect yourself, and Antonin is one of the best."

Her eyes dropped to the pavement in front of them. "I don't... You know about what I've done in the past. I don't want to kill anyone ever again." She told him truthfully. She didn't feel right trying to decide the fates of others, and she worried that having a gun on her would maybe draw her further into that lifestyle.

They had finally reached her building, and Tom insisted that he walk her all the way up to the door, despite being surrounded by drunk pedestrians. She released his arm and got her keys out, only to find Tom's hand resting against the door, caging her in with his body. "I don't understand you, Hermione." He whispered, pushing her hair back behind her ear, his fingers tracing across her cheek. "You say you don't want to do that again, but I've seen how much you delight in the power that you can hold over others. People underestimate you, and you are always poised to show them just how wrong they are."

She blushed and looked down, knowing that he was right. How often had she delighted in the fact that she could have killed a dozen customers at Ollivander's, and never would they even suspect that it was her who had calculated the fatal dose? That was before she'd been reminded that even she was infallible, by the police detective. She was in more danger now than she'd ever been.

Turning away from him, so that she could slip her key in the door, she tried to push down her body's reaction to standing so close to the handsome man. "Not all delights should be indulged, Tom." Reaching out for the knob, she gave him one last lingering look, before entering her flat and shutting the door in his face.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am so glad you are enjoying the pacing of Hermione and Tom's growing relationship...this chapter sees them grow a bit closer! You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter nine and be on the lookout for chapter ten soon!

* * *

Hermione furiously scribbled little notes in her black laboratory journal, working out the chemical reaction that she was trying to replicate. It was quite a breakthrough, in her opinion, and she hoped that it would be able to help Tom and his associates, and in a way her as a well. If she was able to create this, she was sure that more people would be willing to buy alcohol from her.

Cursing underneath her breath when she noticed the large ink stain on her finger, she was shocked when her wrist was grabbed by none other than Weasley. He made a big show of inspecting the spot on her finger, making a little noise of disapproval. "Well, this just won't do, Miss Granger. How am I supposed to take you to dinner if you are dirty?" He gave her a weak little grin, which she was sure he thought was attractive, but to her it just made her feel annoyed.

Snatching her hand free from him, Hermione quickly tried to gather up her belongings so that she could get away from her biggest pest. It seemed that no matter how many times she'd told Weasley that she wasn't interested in speaking with him, he just couldn't seem to take the hint. "Thank you for the offer, Weasley, but I have no interest in going to dinner with you." She said, trying to be firm and direct, but not specifically rude.

"How many times have I asked you to call me Ron?" He asked, his voice smooth and crooning. "I would love to be on a first name basis with you, Hermione. But of course, you are right." He conceded.

She narrowed her eyes at his, not sure how to proceed. On the one hand, she wanted to admonish him for calling her by her first name when she _did not_ want to ever be on a first name basis with him. But, she was curious about him agreeing with her. They mixed together as well as water and oil, and he could never seem to admit he was wrong. Was it possible that he'd finally gotten the hint and realized that she wasn't interested in being his romantic partner? "What do you mean?" She asked, cautiously hopeful.

"Well, I just mean, why waste time going _out_ to dinner when we could share a meal and wine at my home. It's just a short walk from campus." He boasted, lingering on the word wine. She wanted to laugh in his face that he somehow thought that plying her with wine was winning him any points in her book. Of course, it was impossible for Weasley to know that she had access to possibly the best alcohol in the world if she wanted. She was sure that Tom could arrange for _whatever_ alcohol she wanted to drink, including the finest French champagne. Seeing her skeptical look, he countined. "Well, I mean, I do share it with my too older brothers - they own a toy shop, you see." He clearly was very sensitive of this fact.

Gathering up her notes, Hermione gave him a little smile. "I'm afraid I am not interested in that either, Weasley." She said, cutting him off again before he could protest. "And in any case, I am really quite busy today, so if you could just move aside." Hermione had stayed in the chemistry building much longer than she had expected to, and she needed to hurry off to the warehouse. She could do theoretical experimentation here, but to actually try anything out, she would need to actually give it a go in real life, which meant she needed to get working on making some methyl alcohol as well.

Carefully marked, of course. She didn't want there to be any chance that one of the guys might get hurt from drinking the poison. Except for maybe Evan. He'd only grown increasingly rude to her with each successful batch of alcohol that she created. It seemed that no matter what she did to prove herself, or how much the others warmed up around her, he was just never going to like her. And he wasn't afraid to tell Tom about it either.

Thinking of Tom, she wondered if he would rather approve of her poisoning his associate. Tom seemed to let the guys try to work out any issues between themselves, but she wondered if that would extend to permanent blindness? Shaking her head, she pushed the idea of hurting someone, even Evan, out of her mind.

She was shocked back into the classroom from her musings by Ronald snatching her laboratory notes from her, leafing through all of the pages. "Just what's in here, that's got you so interested anyway?" He asked, apparently feeling somewhat defensive at being ignored by Hermione. She was sure that he was used to getting his way with most woman, and was annoyed at being overlooked by her, time and time again.

Horrified, Hermione watched helplessly as he found her most recent distilling notes, trying to create a higher proof for their whiskey, but still balance the flavor of the rye she was using. She just knew that it was the end. He was sure to try and turn her into the police or to Professor Snape and let them know that she was doing something as illegal as moonshining. "Give it back Weasley!" She demanded, trying to reach for the notes.

He laughed at her, shaking his head. "I don't see why you even want this so badly anyway." He said with a sneer. "It doesn't look like much of anything at all." She bit her lip so as not to correct him, but gave a sigh of relief when he reluctantly handed it back to her.

She wasn't sure if she should be glad or annoyed that Weasley was clearing too stupid to understand just what it was that he'd been reading about. Clearly, he had no idea what the chemical symbols of ethyl alcohol was, or he would have understood just what had her so interested in the first place. Apparently, if you had enough money to just buy smuggled or bootlegged alcohol, you didn't need to bother yourself with the science of how it was made. She was annoyed that she had to work so hard to prove herself in this field, when people like Weasley scraped by on their money and family name.

Pushing past him, she just felt herself growing more determined to do well in her University classes, hoping to show the men just how wrong they were about her. "Excuse me, Weasley. I have a trolley to catch."

* * *

As time had gone on and Hermione become more comfortable at the warehouse, she actually found herself quite enjoying the chemistry behind distilling alcohol. It was much more interesting than creating the tonics that she made at Mr. Ollivander's shop and it was quite profitable, as her tiny hidden vase and new wardrobe could attest to. Tom was always quite generous with the amount he gave her after each batch sold, including bonuses for good quality. She was sure that if she wanted to, she could quite easily move out of her tiny studio, but she wasn't quite ready to leave yet.

She found her opinion about prohibition changing quite dramatically as well. After having imbibed quite a fair amount of the whiskey she made, she couldn't even imagine why it was illegal. She had trusted the authorities when they said that it would be the downfall of moral society, having always had a healthy appreciation of the rules, but in her experience thus far, drinking was just fun and relaxing. It made her question the other things that she'd been told by the so called "good guys", even more so than learning that the police took bribes.

She trusted Tom Riddle, even though he had initially blackmailed her into cooperating, and she knew that he did take part in other illegal activities, but it seemed like he always had a purpose. He never hurt anyone randomly, and she found that she did appreciate a lot of the things he did for the neighborhood. She found herself wanting to help Tom Riddle achieve his aims. And, after being in the light of his praise, she found herself wanting to please Tom Riddle, too. It was amazing how one good word from his mouth could make your blood sing. Maybe that was why she'd begun spending so much more time in the warehouse, hoping to catch just a glimpse of the handsome man.

Hermione had been working on a chemical test to distinguish between methyl and ethyl alcohol, a method that Tom could show to buyers. She knew it would be a kind of fail safe to prove that they had quality work. After all, methyl alcohol was quite dangerous, even deadly, so it was paramount to show buyers that they would be getting the real McCoy, and not just swill that would turn them blind.

Creating the test had meant staying late at the warehouse to intentionally make methyl alcohol for testing. She had gone through and labeled that batch poison, but it turned out that Rosier had decided to ignore her warning, thinking that she was hiding something better than their typical batch. To his disappointment, he had spent a disorienting night in a brothel nearby suffering from a blistering headache, vomiting until the next morning. He'd survived, and now looked at Hermione with even more suspicion, but Tom didn't seem too bothered, admonishing him for drinking something clearly labeled as poison.

With the methanol on hand, Hermione was eager to begin trying her test that she'd come up with in chemistry class. It wasn't so hard, and she quickly learned that it was a success. Hermione was so pleased with herself, but she could hardly relish in the personal knowledge that she'd created something that would revolutionize the business by herself. She was excited to show Tom that she'd finally been able to develop a clear test to differentiate the poison from the imbibing alcohol, that she bounded into his office, carrying all sorts of test tubes, clutched in greedy fingers.

"Good afternoon, Hermione." He said, that deep voice of his sending shivers all the way down her spine. She wasn't sure why, but his use of her given name suddenly had her heart pounding wildly.

Noticing him shuffling his papers around the desk, she frowned, realizing that she had just burst into his office without knocking. What if he'd been in a meeting with someone and she'd intruded on it? "I had something to show you, but it can wait, if you are too busy." She told him cautiously, suddenly feeling quite silly for barging in.

Tom regarded her in a way that made it clear he was not unhappy with her for the eager way that she'd entered his office. "I always have time for you, Hermione." His words had her flushing in excitement, even more so than the way his dark blue eyes seemed to linger on her face.

Moving to place the two beakers on the table, she poured a bit of the iodine solution into each beaker. "This is an iodine solution. And then when you add sodium hydroxide..." She trailed off and added the other liquid to the flasks, one containing the ethyl alcohol and the other containing the methyl alcohol, indistinguishable to a layman. "The ethanol will go cloudy before forming a precipitate on it's surface. The methanol will remain clear." She told him, waiting for the magic of the chemistry to take place.

Tom stood from behind the desk watching in awe as the chemical reaction took place. He stood abruptly from his desk, before grabbing her cheeks between his hands before planting his lips on hers in a searing, but brief kiss. "You are brilliant, Hermione. I will give you anything you want - would you like a new flat? Or perhaps a trip to Havana?" Hermione was too stunned to respond to his promises, his words not even registering. "Wait here while I get Brax and Antonin."

She was unable to move her feet to flee, even if she wanted to, her body still singing, her mind whirring with the knowledge that she knew what Tom's lips felt like pressed against hers. He'd called her brilliant and promised her anything she'd ever want. To be honest, she didn't know what she wanted, except to steal another kiss.

* * *

As expected, Juniper did eventually send Hermione an invitation to dinner, via none other than Abraxas. The only surprise was that Tom was invited as well. "Will you come up too, Tom?" Abraxas had asked, after Hermione had graciously accepted, excited to bring a bottle of her newly completed gin for her only female friend. "You know Juniper always enjoys seeing you at the Estate."

She couldn't be sure if he'd only accepted because she was also going, but he'd accepted nonetheless. Abraxas was quite pleased as it meant that it meant that Tom could drive her up, and he could leave a night early and head home to his wife.

Hermione hated to admit it, but she had been avoiding Tom since their brief kiss. She knew that he likely didn't mean anything by it, seeing as he was just so overjoyed by her creating such a lucrative test for their business. Still, she couldn't deny that she'd had a _very_ physical reaction to the kiss, and her dreams in the days since had been plagued by dark blue eyes and breathy sighs. If she didn't spend more time than necessary with him, she was much less likely to embarrass herself in front of him. After all, she didn't want to get her hopes up.

But now, she could no longer avoid him. Climbing into his very nice car, Hermione was struck with the realization that she was in for about an hour of driving in confined quarters with the object of her fantasies. Slipping the overnight bag that included the gin bottle near her feet, Hermione tried to preoccupy herself with ensuring that the purple dress she'd selected didn't have any wrinkles. When she could no longer ostensibly still be concerned with her appearance, she realized that Tom still had not started the car.

Looking up cautiously from beneath dark lashes, she nearly gasped at seeing the unmasked appreciation in his gaze. "You look very lovely tonight, Hermione." He whispered, his voice barely heard over the rumble of the engine. Somehow she found that his compliment meant so much more to her than all of the over the top pawing that Rabastan did, and she wondered if it was because Tom meant more to her than Rab.

And really...just what was she thinking being interested in what Tom thought of her at all? Just as she'd told him when he'd escorted her home the previous week, she had _not_ forgotten what kind of a man he was. That he was dangerous. The idea that someone as successful and ambitious as him could be interested in her was both heady and bewildering. She was positive that it would end with her getting her hopes up that something _more_ than a business relationship could exist between them, only to have them dashed cruely by a man who didn't care about others' feelings.

"Thank you." She breathed in return. "You are looking quite dapper yourself." He did look quite handsome, which a blue shirt carefully covered with a vest and jacket. He looked impeccible and extragavant, and she could feel herself being drawn into, despite her best wishes. Clearing her mind, she kept her face forward, intent on keeping her eyes on the road for their long trip up to the Malfoys' home. "You seem very close with the Malfoys." She said cautiously.

Tom shrugged from his place, she noticed out of her peripheral vision. "I suppose that you could say that. Abraxas has always been good to me and I have been good to him in return." He explained, though Hermione didn't have the faintest idea of what that entailed.

"Well, you are their son's godfather. Surely that means that you have been more than good to them, if his care would be entrusted to you." Hermione reasoned, excited to meet Juniper's son, who the other woman was quite taken with.

"Been reading up on me, have you?" Tom teased, a smirk evident on his face.

Hermione colored, having been caught. Of course, she'd read all about his alibi to get out of a murder charge, it had been the talk of the town! "Well, it's hard _not_ to read about you, when you are all the papers seem to want to talk about." Hermione replied tersely. She supposed that it was something that could have come up between her and Juniper, but she hadn't thought of it in time to respond.

Silence settled between them as they left the lights of New Orleans behind and made their way out into the foggy bayous. It was enough to unsettle Hermione, and she desperately wanted something else to talk about to get through the rest of their drive. "You and Abraxas don't seem to run in the same circles." She said plainly, thinking that the two men were rather different. "How did the two of you meet?"

A smile threatened Tom's face, but he was able to school his features quickly enough. "You are right. We don't run in the same circles, even now." He told her, a few beats passing between them. Just when she thought he wasn't going to answer her question, he spoke again. "Antonin and I used to run a racket. You know, those shell games? Just a bit of sleight-of-hand." Hermione did know what he meant, but she couldn't imagine him participating in such a simple or small time scam. She supposed that everyone had to begin somewhere, though. "Antonin was my shill in the crowd. Anyway, Abraxas kept asking for double or nothing, until he'd built up quite a debt with me. He couldn't pay, and after a bit of threatening from me and Tony, he promised that he could work off his debts - that he had connections, that he could bankroll me. Well, let's just say, he worked it off, and we remained friends after."

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, thinking that it really sounded like such a silly thing, but it also sounded entirely plausible. She could just imagine Abraxas as a stuck up teen, desperate to get out of a beating of his pretty face. Typical.

Before she could think of something to say, they were driving up the driveway towards the Malfoys impressive whitewashed home. Her breath was stolen, and she pressed her hands against the glass of the window, wondering just _what_ kind of lifestyle she was being pulled into. Suddenly, her meager gift of gin seemed a bit silly.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! Sorry, this one is out a little later than I would like, but it really fought me and I am still not 100% happy with it. I hope to be back on track for chapter 11.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter ten and be on the lookout for chapter eleven soon!

* * *

Hermione did not have to wait long beside Tom Riddle in the Malfoy's extravagant foyer before she was wrapped in a tight embrace by none other than Juniper Malfoy herself. Although she did consider Juniper to be a friend, she was rather taken aback by the physical welcome, but was happy to return it.

Juniper had a baby resting on her hip, and pulled back to introduce him to Hermione. "This little handsome man is Lucius," She told Hermione running her fingers through his blond curls. It seemed that he had all the same coloring as Abraxas, and was rather cute with big, chubby, pink cheeks.

"Nice to meet you, Lucius," Hermione greeted the little boy, offering him one of her fingers to grab onto. To Juniper's delight, Lucius wrapped his tiny digits around Hermione's offered finger before bringing it to his mouth.

"Wonderful to see you as well, Tom," Juniper greeted, pressing a continental kiss to one of his cheeks. "Braxy is in the drawing room with some cognac if you want to go on in," she offered to the other man.

Once the two women were alone, Hermione complemented Juniper on her home. "Your house is just lovely, thank you so much for inviting me to dinner," she told the other woman sincerely. "I, uh, did bring you a gift - it's some gin, made with real juniper berries. Antonin told me it was quite good, but I'm afraid I haven't drank much gin. I hope you like it," Hermione stumbled over her courtesies, finding that she never knew entirely how to act around her new female friend.

But, putting her at ease, Juniper instead squealed in delight. "Oh thank you! I haven't had a proper gin in ages! Come into the kitchen and we can make some gimlets, and then we can join the men."

Hermione followed Juniper into the kitchen a bit dumbfounded. The kitchen was expansive and whitewashed, making Hermione feel all the more silly for allowing the Malfoys into her studio when her kitchen had been so dirty. She could only imagine what they thought of her when they had this for a home. She watched with excitement as Juniper begun mixing together gin with simple syrup and lime juice. Juniper looked quite at ease, and Hermione wondered just how often it was that she made drinks.

Happily taking the offered glass from her friend's hand, Hermione gave the new drink a tentative sip. Delighted by the flavor, she looked up, surprised. "Juniper, this is lovely!"

"Well, the gin is what is _really_ lovely," Juniper told her with a grin. "I've just helped it sing. Shall we go join the boys in the other room?"

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed, following Juniper out of the kitchen, past their grand staircase, and towards the drawing room. They were drawn closer by the sound of low murmuring voices, but once they pushed the doors open, she was surprised to see that it was neither Abraxas nor Tom speaking. Instead, the men were huddled around a strange, wooden little box that was speaking. Tom was bent at the waist, with his hands wrapped around the back of his neck, seeming quite distressed.

Realizing that this must be an _actual_ commercial radio, Hermione was quite excited, but knew better than to interrupt with the multitude of questions that she had about it, instead choosing to listen to the news that had so captivated its audience.

"- _as the City of New Orleans newly elected police chief, I promise the citizens of this City more accountability from the police. I am disgusted by the rampant participating in bribery and vice that permeates all levels of the Department. I vow this to you now - I, Chief Albus Dumbledore, will put an end to the corruption and the bribery in the police force!"_

Any additional words from the new Police Chief were drowned out by the transmitted noise of the cheering crowd, and Tom's rather visceral reaction to the news. His face was transformed from it's usual handsome, his lip curling to reveal white teeth in a sneer, worry evident from the little furrow of his brow. He made a noise of frustration before turning to Abraxas. "I want more details on Dumbledore - anything you can find! Where he sleeps, who he fucks, what he eats...anything that you can get me on him, I want to know about!"

Hermione was a bit surprised by how ruffled he seemed. She supposed that he was probably just concerned about his business - he did claim to run the City after all, and it sounded like Dumbledore was going to put that in jeopardy. Not really sure what to do, she contented herself with taking a big drink from the glass, finding it truly delightful.

Silence filled the room, nearly as oppressive as the outside humidity, before Juniper cheerfully announced that dinner was ready. Hermione quickly followed her friend who was leading the way, not sure how to handle the oppressive atmosphere that had been in the parlor. Finding her seat was easy enough, as there were only four places set at the Malfoy's long table. The table was piled with all sorts of delicious smelling foods that had Hermione's mouth watering as she sat down. Bowls full of maque choux and a steaming etouffee with bright red crawfish lovingly placed on top were buttressed by Oysters Rockefeller.

The brunette was so in awe of the rich and decadent foods that she was almost too distracted to hear what Juniper was trying to tell her. "Oh, Hermione, you're needing a refresher on the drink!" Pressing little Lucius into her arms, her friend picked up Hermione's nearly empty lowball glass. "You just look after the baby, and I will be right back."

Lucius looked up at her with blue little eyes, and she was very much under the impression that the little boy didn't entirely trust her. Perhaps he could tell that she'd never held a small child before and her nervousness was translating to him. Sitting alone with Lucius, Hermione began to feel a bit silly here. The drink that she'd had was _much_ stronger than she was used to, and she could feel the heat of the alcohol creep up her neck, her body feeling a bit light.

"Well don't the pair of you paint a picture," Tom's voice cut through the stillness of the room, and Hermione turned to face him. He was smirking and looking quite handsome, though he was giving her a bit of an odd look, seeing her with Lucius in her arms. He seemed to have calmed somewhat from his little outburst in the other room.

"I don't think he likes me much," Hermione responded, feeling rather self conscious being under Tom's scrutiny. He had a way of making you feel like you were the focus of his whole world, and it could be just as intoxicating as too much gin. But, Hermione was starting to wonder just how much she liked feeling tipsy.

Juniper swept into the dining room with Abraxas in tow, placing Hermione's refreshed glass on the table, before taking a now squirming Lucius out of her arms. Juniper sat down in the spot that Abraxas had filled in, leaving Tom the seat next to Hermione.

Hermione was suddenly taken by the fact that this dinner felt quite so much like a romantic evening, perhaps like a double date. Did Tom want some kind of relationship with her now? Did he ever think of her that way or was she just his reliable chemist useful for bringing in money only? Perhaps it was the alcohol addling her brain, but she found that her heart was pounding from the prospect of it.

So wrapped in her thoughts, she barely contributed to the conversation at all, only answering questions that were directed at her. "Hermione, thank you again so much for the gin. Abraxas, you simply must try it."

"So this is what you've been working on?" Abraxas asked, taking a sip of Juniper's offered glass, humming in agreement when he finally tasted it. "Well, Hermione has been telling us that we should distill gin because it doesn't require any aging like whiskey. Maybe we should give it another thought," He offered with a shrug.

The chemist smirked at Abraxas and just how smitten it was he was with his wife. Plus, it was nice to have her work praised, especially since it was something that she went and did on her own. While the Malfoys were too wrapped up in each other, Tom leaned in closer to Hermione. She breathed in his spicy scent - just like the whiskey he drank - while she listened to his question. "Are you enjoying your drink?" He sounded amused.

Hermione nodded, perhaps a bit too forcefully, before answering him. "Yes, I quite like it...it's more tempered than straight alcohol." She was surprised by the slight slur in her speech, and she could feel her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, when she realized that her second glass was gone. "Perhaps I enjoyed it a bit more than I was expecting."

Tom didn't smirk at her, instead just looking concerned. "Yes, well, it is still quite strong. Would you like to escort me to your room?" He asked, not interested in any ulterior motives, just making sure that she was actually looked after.

Nodding, Hermione stood from the table abruptly, swaying on her feet, obviously more drunk than she expected. Neither of the Malfoy's said anything when she took Tom's offered hand, and let him guide her out of the dining room and upstairs to the bedrooms. She didn't notice Juniper's concerned look as she walked away, or Abraxas's quiet assurances that Tom wouldn't take advantage of her. All she could think about was how steady he made her feel and how she longed for him to kiss her, deeply this time.

But, she was destined to be disappointed, for Tom opened the door of the room she was staying in. He didn't even flinch when she leaned into him, before he shuffled her inside the sanctuary, informing her that he would just be across the hall if she needed _anything_.

* * *

The gang was having another party. Really, when were they not having a party, Hermione wondered. It seemed that there was always a reason or an excuse to roll out the barrels that she had worked so painstakingly hard to age. She didn't mind, knowing that it meant even more money for her hidden stash. This time was a bit different, seeing as it was the first time that the alcohol would exclusively be her's.

Tom Riddle had sent her a new dress for the party that he'd invited her to, insisting that she show up. She wasn't sure if this was a further signal that their relationship was changing, as she found it very difficult to read Tom. Sometimes he was rather affectionate and even flirty with her, but at other times he could be so cold and distant.

Still, once she'd removed the delicate wrapping paper that had hidden the dress from her view, she knew that she would attend, even before she'd slipped the fabric on. The dress was very much in the fashion - thin straps and covered in gold fringe that made each step she made seem mesmerizing. It was a bit shorter than she was certainly used to, but she couldn't deny that it was flattering. Seeing herself all dressed up in her small mirror was odd to see, as she nearly felt like a different woman.

She felt confident as she walked across town to the location that she'd been instructed to go to. As soon as she'd given the password at the door, she'd been swept into a room of sensation, biting smoke filled the air, the clink of glasses, the blaring brassiness of a jazz trumpet, and of course the press of sweaty bodies around the bar. She stood there, stunned for a moment, and just trying to take it all in. It was much more raucous and busier than Rabastan's welcome home party.

Her eyes scanned the room for someone familiar, but was unable to locate anyone. Feeling her heart beat rapidly, suddenly feeling rather out of place, Hermione was startled from her thoughts by a large hand coming to rest on the curve of her waist. "Don't you look good enough to eat." A rumbling voice whispered into her ear, making her hair stand on end in an unpleasant reaction.

Turning in his grasp, Hermione had to crane her neck to make eye contact with the large man who'd grabbed her. His teeth - imperfect, but still gleaming white - were revealed by a predator's smile, and Hermione couldn't help but feel like this was a situation she didn't want to be in. "I don't think that we've been properly introduced. The name's Greyback."

Hermione didn't think she could have ever forgotten his name after Tom had told her that he was a rougarou and that she should stay away from him. Now, being held so intimately against him, she wondered if perhaps the rumors were true. His arms were covered in dark hair and his scent was almost obscenely masculine. Her heart was hammering against her chest like a rabbit who was caught in the mouth of a dog. Or perhaps a wolf.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione knew that she couldn't say nothing to him. "I'm Hermione. I'm Tom's chemist." She said quietly, surprised that he could even hear her voice above the din of the crowd.

Fenrir pressed a bit closer to her, his face near the top of her head, and she was horrified to realize that he was _smelling_ her. "Ah, so you are the one that Tony can't stop talking about. He's warned me to stay away from you." Hermione was glad to hear that Antonin seemed to enjoy her so much, but at the same time she worried that his warning to Fenrir had only made her more intriguing prey. "But I don't think I will be doing that. Let's dance." He demanded.

"Oh, I haven't even had a drink yet," Hermione counted weakly. "I couldn't possibly."

"Finish mine." Fenrir instructed, pressing a half full whiskey glass into her hand, letting his other hand dip to her lower back, but certainly not letting her go.

She started at the amber liquid, figuring that it probably couldn't hurt. She knew that she'd made the alcohol, and it wasn't as though he would have poisoned it. Taking a timid sip, she looked up to see his startling blue eyes trained on her lips. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"I will lead you," he promised, before waiting for her to finish the rest of the whiskey. "Besides, with a dress like that, it would be a crime not to show you off." Removing the glass from her hand, he lead her out to the center of the room, where men and women - some she recognized, but most of which she didn't - parted for Fenrir's bulk. Still holding her tight, he began to sway to the beat of the music.

Hermione was surprised that he really was quite a good dancer. He really was quite good at leading and she wondered if it was his alpha personality that allowed him to glide her around the room with such precision. She never once worried that she would crash into another person and she quickly found herself relaxing around the burly man, to her absolute surprise. Perhaps he wasn't so bad as she had initially been lead to believe. Despite herself, she could feel a smile spread across her face, as Fenrir did his absolute best to ensure that she was having a good time.

Her eyes scanned the room when he pulled her close, and this time it wasn't hard for her to locate someone she knew. She could practically feel the dark blue eyes of Tom Riddle boring into her, his face contorted with what she might call jealousy on another man. But, what on Earth did he have to be jealous of? He'd left her completely out of the loop on if he wanted something more with her, so why should she not bask in the attention of other men?

Still, she couldn't deny that Tom Riddle's eyes never left her form once, not even as his cigarette slowly burned to ash in his hand forgotten. Bellatrix was standing next to him, her mouth moving rapidly as it seemed she was desperate to get his attention.

Upset with herself, Hermione wondered just why she was so hung up on what Tom Riddle was feeling or thinking! She did enjoy spending time with him, she could admit that now, but she refused to be strung along by him either. Let him be jealous, if that's what he wanted. But she certainly wasn't going to make the first move and put herself out there, only to look like a fool, as Bellatrix so often did.

Instead, she returned her attention to Fenrir Greyback, enjoying the wild pace of the music. She couldn't quite think of a time that she'd felt so alive, and now that the whiskey was moving through her veins, she was feeling more loose. She pressed herself into him more now, not worrying that she might be giving him false hope. Still, she was confident that she could stand her ground with Greyback if he tried to push her too far. She couldn't admit to herself that perhaps she wanted to push Tom to action.

If it wasn't her intention, she still had certainly caught Tom's attention, and at the next break in the music, her taciturn boss was striding across the floor, taping Greyback on the shoulder. The man looked annoyed at having been interrupted, but when he saw who it was, the irritation was tamped down.

"Sorry to steal her away from you, Fenrir, but I'm afraid I have some business to settle with my chemist." Tom said forcefully, before grabbing her hand, and leading her off in the direction of the bar.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! Sorry for leaving you on a bit of a cliffhanger! Hopefully this chapter makes up for it :) I think this is the longest continuing scene I've written...maybe I've written something longer in Slip, though. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter eleven and be on the lookout for chapter twelve soon!

* * *

Hermione followed Tom over towards the bar, where he had a mixed drink waiting for her. He pressed it into her hand, and she took it sheepishly, taking a dainty sip, savoring the sweet flavor. "What is this?" she questioned him, knowing that she should really rethink just drinking whatever it was that someone handed to her.

"And old-fashioned. I thought, since you enjoyed the gimlet…" Tom's voice trailed off, when he seemed to remember that he was annoyed with her. He easily found Fenrir Greyback staring at the pair of them, and gave the man another scowl, trying to make it clear that the hitman should look elsewhere for entertainment for the evening. "I thought I made it clear why you should keep away from Greyback."

The young woman could feel her cheeks color. "Well, he wasn't as bad as I expected…" she whispered, wondering just why she felt quite so guilty about being caught dancing with another man. It wasn't as though she and Tom had any kind of agreement that they should remain faithful to one another. Christ, they hadn't even kissed properly! Squaring her shoulders, she took another drink of the delicious cocktail. "In any case, Fenrir didn't exactly give me an opportunity to say no to him."

That certainly caught Tom's attention, and suddenly, he was pressing himself a bit closer to her, as though to shield her from any unwanted advances. His fingertips brushed some of the hair that had frizzed a bit from the heat of all the dancing bodies. "Hermione, if someone is bothering you, you must tell me. I will take care of them for you."

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth, and all of the bullshit that she was putting up with in her classes flashed before her mind, on the tip of her tongue, before she decided to tamp that down. _Surely,_ that's not what Tom meant in the slightest. Desperate to get the attention off of Fenrir, Hermione needed to change the subject.

"Thank you for the dress." She wished her voice sounded more confident, but looking at him she felt oddly exposed. He was charismatic - like the whole room was effected by his presence, and she was certainly not immune to it either. She felt her head go a bit fuzzy and her heart skip a beat, when she had his blue eyes focused entirely on her, drinking in her form with a greedy look. He was more intoxicating than an the alcohol she'd made.

"It suits you," he said quietly, his lips quirked in a smirk, letting her know that he definitely appreciated the way she looked in it. She watched helplessly as one of his fingers came up to trace along the edge of the thin strap, from her shoulder, down to the top of her breasts. Her breathing was a little bit more labored when she realized that she was disappointed that he stopped. What was wrong with her?

"It was quite a sight to watch you spin around the room. Would you like to dance?" He held out his hand for her to take.

Even though he was a criminal, smuggler, murderer, Hermione didn't have the think twice before taking his warm hand in her own. Letting him glide her to the very edge of the impromptu dancefloor - Tom didn't need to in the middle of the room to be the center of attention - she sighed into him, letting him hold her a bit tighter. As he spun her around the room, teaching her the newest dance crazy, or held her body close to his, her mind was spinning with sensation. Everything revolved around him.

Once she had drunk him in, there was no chance that she wasn't going to spend the rest of her night reveling in his presence. She spent the whole night on his arm, drinking too much and laughing along with Rabastan's crude jokes and generally having a phenomenal time. She also couldn't deny the secret pleasure that she everytime she noticed the sour, _jealous_ look on Bellatrix's face. This whole party was better than anything she could have imagined. If this was what being a criminal was like, she wondered why she'd ever wasted any time following the rules.

When he held her on the dancefloor, she could feel the hard planes of muscle under her fingertips and in her whiskey hazed mind, she wondered what he might look like under his impeccably tailored clothes. He so rarely had even a button out of place, and this evening was no different, seeing him cut a dashing figure in a new grey suit.

Tom seemed to know the effect that he had on her, because he kept staring down at her with that infuriating _smirk_ whenever she met his eyes. Hermione liked to think that she had a similar effect on him, though, because she noticed that his eyes would stray to her lips whenever her tongue would dart out to wet her lips. To know that he noticed such a tiny movement made her heart speed up.

No matter how close he'd held her, or the lingering touches he left on her bare back, she certainly wasn't expecting his head to dip down and press his lips firmly against hers in a kiss. He held her body to his tightly, as though he were afraid that she'd run away, before tilting her chin up to angle her to him, like a flower looking for the soon. There was no time to think before he was kissing her - possessive and powerful - and it made her stop in her tracks. When he pressed his tongue firmly against the seam of her lips, she willingly opened her mouth to him, only to be swept away by the passion he shared with her.

Tom Riddle was more than she ever expected.

He pulled away and Hermione could only feel disappointment at being separated from him. Not willing to stop, she stood on her tiptoes, and caught his lips again, her fingers playing with the bit of hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to her just as tightly. Their kiss was really getting quite heated, sending a pleasurable kind of throbbing down between Hermione's legs. She pressed them together, not entirely sure what it was that she was looking for.

She wasn't sure how long that they were standing there, kissing one another, before Tom was pressing his hands to her shoulders, pulling away. A noise of disappointment left her throat, and she wondered just why it was that he wanted to pull away. Her eyes read Tom's face, wanting to see if she could see some reason why he would be stopping. She felt a feminine thrill at the sight of his kiss-bruised lips, swollen and smirking.

Leaning into her, Tom pressed his cheek to hers, his lips to the shell of her ear. His hot breath danced over her neck when he spoke. "It's getting rather late, Hermione. Would you like an escort home?"

Blinking, Hermione looked around and noticed that the party was still in full swing. There was no indication that it actually was late at night, and she felt desire pool in her body when she realized the logical conclusion of Tom's offer. Nodding dumbly, she allowed him to lead her up out of the speakeasy.

The air was much colder than when she had walked over, and her arms were soon covered in gooseflesh. Seeing her rub her hands to warm her skin, Tom removed his jacket, and placed it around her shoulders without asking. Hermione sighed, enjoying the way that his spicy scent enveloped her. "Thank you," she murmured quietly, earning nothing in return.

The walk back to her flat in the French Quarter was mostly quiet. Hermione focused on listening to the revelers that had spilled out onto the street. She'd gotten quite used to this level of noise previously, and barely paid it any attention now adays. A brass band was toasting a wedding tonight, it seemed.

Once they'd arrived at the door to her flat, Hermione knew that it was time for her to make a decision...to choose just how much she actually wanted to have from Tom and how much of herself she was willing to give up in return. It wasn't as though she was ready for sex, but she also didn't want the night to end. Shoving her key into the door, she held the door open slightly. "Would you like to come in for a little while? I could make some tea," her voice was breathy and light, pregnant with hope.

Tom didn't bother to hide his smug look, as though he knew she were going to ask him inside the whole time, and stepped inside her flat, giving it a look around. Shutting the door behind him and securing the lock, he turned to face her. "No need to make tea. I've got a flask," he offered.

Hermione nodded, wondering if this was perhaps a very bad idea. Now that he was standing in her flat, seeming to tower over her in the room, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with him. "I know that it's not much, but...well, it's home," she told him with a shrug, especially embarrassed now that she'd seen how the Malfoys lived. She couldn't believe that she'd actually ever had guests. Wanting something to do, she stepped into the kitchen and found Tom a clean glass to pour his drink into.

"It's a bit small," Tom agreed, simply. "When you told me about your chemical test to identify methanol, I told you that you could have anything that you wanted. Certainly you've earned enough money at this point to move out. Do you want me to help you find somewhere to live?" He queried.

She knew that it was true that she probably could have moved out at this point, something was holding her back. Working with Tom and his gang had been incredibly profitable, but she was acutely aware that it likely wasn't permanent. A variety of things could go wrong, and she didn't want to put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak. Once she had something that would allow her to transition to legitimate business, like her degree from Tulane, then she would think about moving. "Yes, I know, but...I'm just not ready to leave this place yet. It's the first place that was _mine_ you know?"

Tom nodded, seeming to understand. She wondered if it was because of his own upbringing as an orphan.

Giving him back his jacket, she nibbled on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do about her party dress. "Do you mind if I change quickly?" she questioned. "You can have a look around if you want." There wasn't much to look around at, seeing as the flat was all one room, save the bathroom.

Not waiting for his permission, Hermione slipped behind the screen that cut off her bed from the rest of the room. Once her dress was neatly hanging once again, Hermione slipped into her longest dressing gown, which hung down past her knees. Although she knew it was much less sexy than what most women wore, she still felt that it was too provocative to return to Tom's company in just her pajamas. Pulling down a robe, she wrapped it around her body as well, securing the belt as tightly as possible. Determined not to be embarrassed, she stepped out from the screen, only to see Tom looking through all of her books.

"You enjoy reading," he said simply, clearly impressed with the piles and piles of books that cluttered the room. Blessedly, he didn't say anything about the state of her attire, and had himself removed his tie and collar, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows.

She joined his side, happy to talk about something that she loved. "Yes, I've always loved reading. When they were still alive, my parents were very busy and didn't have much time for me. I spent a lot of time lost in books." Tucking a curl behind her ear, she hoped that she hadn't revealed quite so much. Eager to get the attention off of her, she turned the focus on him. "Do you enjoy reading, Tom?"

"Not so much the act of reading," he told her with a shrug of his shoulders. "Mostly I love knowing everything that I possibly can. I _hate_ it when someone thinks that they know more than I do, and that they have some kind of advantage over me."

Hermione was surprised by his words, but at the same time she thought that was possibly the most 'Tom' thing she'd ever heard him admit to. In a way, she found it a bit sad, that he couldn't even enjoy something simple just for the sake of it - he was _always_ looking for a way to come out on top over others, at others' expense. It was surprising to have him be so open with her. "I feel like I don't know anything about you, Tom," she revealed, shyly, beneath sooted lashes. "Where do you live?"

Tom took a sip from his drink, likely trying to decide exactly how he wanted to answer that. "I've inherited an estate in the Garden District," he said simply.

Hermione wondered if he had inherited it from his dead father - Tom Riddle, Sr. - whose murder Tom had been acquitted of. Hermione had her doubts that Tom was actually with the Malfoys at the time of the murder, but she couldn't very well ask him about it. It also didn't change the fact that he'd practically admitted to murdering other people for less. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to let it go, she cautiously broached the subject. "From your...father's family?"

Tom was silent for a long time, until of course, her eyes sought out his, hoping that she hadn't offended him horribly in the process of her questioning. "Yes, from my father's family. I am sure he'd rather it had gone to anyone else besides me, so I relish in the fact that it's mine."

That was a rather vindictive and cruel thought, Hermione mused. "I take it that your relationship with your father was an unpleasant one...is that why...you ended up in an orphanage instead of with him?" She had wondered why he would be sent to live in one - a place where he'd met Antonin - when he obviously had living family. She knew that there had to be more to the story.

"He wouldn't take me," Tom whispered, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was squeezing the glass. He didn't look as if he was going to tell her more, but then he spoke again, all in a rush. "My mother was from a family that had been in Louisiana for a long time. They didn't live in the City, though - no, they were bayou people. My mother wasn't happy with that kind of life, though, and moved to New Orleans when she was just a teenager, against my grandfather's wishes."

"She loved being here, in New Orleans. The life, the party, the fun. It wasn't long until she'd met my father at a function and she began pursuing a relationship with him and before long, I was conceived," Tom's voice was low and tortured, and Hermione wondered if he'd ever shared this with anyone else. "My father was furious, claimed that she'd bewitched him, put some kind of voodoo spell on him and kicked her out."

Hermione couldn't stop her gasp. "Did she really?" Seeing Tom's sharp look, she quickly amended her question. "Did she know voodoo, I mean?"

Staring down at his lap, Tom again thought on it for a while. "Yes, she styled herself as a voodoo priestess, but only once my father had accused her of it. He'd given her quite a reputation, and it was something that her...family had practiced as well. She became convinced that she could find a way to bring him back, and earned money by doing spells for people - placing hexes on enemies or selling love potions, that sort of thing." While he was talking about his mother, it was easy to see how his face lit up. It was clear that he was still very fond of her, no matter where she was now.

The brunette smiled at the man before her, loving seeing this softer side of him come out. "It's obvious that you care about her very much." Hermione took a cautious breath, before asking her next question. "Do you...do you think your mother would have liked me?"

"I'm not sure. I think she would have thought that you were too soft." Tom leaned in a bit closer towards her, letting his finger catch her lower lip, caressing it lovingly. "Would have known how easy you would be to corrupt though, and the _delight_ I would take in doing it."

Forcing herself to look away from him, there was nothing Hermione could do to hide her physical reaction to him. There was nothing she wanted more than to lean into him and start up where they had left off. But, there was clearly more to Tom's story. Taking a steadying breath, she looked back at him. "What happened to her? Why didn't you grow up with her?"

Immediately, Tom's face darkened, and all the playful energy of before evaporated. "A policeman heard about my mother's practice. He didn't think that voodoo was _suitable_ for a child as young as I to be around," he sneered, clearly not agreeing with the policeman's actions. "He came into our house one day, and took me away from her, and arrested her for _child abandonment._ I was offered to my father's family first, but they wouldn't recognize me, not even when they saw that I was nearly a carbon copy of the man. My mother's family similarly wouldn't take me - they saw me as a tainted…the bastard of some pompous, rich man in the City. And that is when I was taken to the orphanage."

Hermione could feel a knot grow tight in her throat, the image of a young Tom taken away from the only person who loved him. Surging forward, Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. "Oh Tom, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how awful that must have been."

He was still for a moment, but eventually, he pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in. His arms held her against him tightly. Somehow, this felt so much more intimate than the kiss that they had shared at the speakeasy.

Time passed, but eventually he pulled away. "It really is getting quite late now," he commented. "There's barely anyone left on the street now."

Nibbling her lower lip, Hermione was bold. "Stay here with me. It's much too late to walk back to the Garden District. My bed's not too large, but it will do to share." She couldn't believe that she had just asked a man - and her boss no less - to share a bed with her! Still, sex was not what was on her mind, just the memory of his arms around her.

Nodding slowly, Tom agreed and followed her behind the curtain. Stripping down to his undershirt, he left his pants on, before laying down. Hermione waffled for a moment, but eventually removed her robe, settling into the bed next to him, turned away and determined not to be the first one to make physical contact.

She didn't have to wait long before Tom was curled around her body, using his arm to pull her closer to him. Sleep came swiftly.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! As always, you can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions. If you are interested in a spooky, Halloween story, you might check out my short multi-chapter called Black Dog. It's a Sirimione and there will be a new chapter every Tuesday through Halloween.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter twelve and be on the lookout for chapter thirteen soon!

* * *

As the summer months waned, the hot, humid weather of New Orleans tempered down to a more reasonable temperature. Tom welcomed the autumn months, as it meant he could be much more comfortable. He always wore a full suit when he was out in public, despite the oppressive feet, because he'd learned the importance of appearance early on in his life. Figures of authority took well-mannered, well dressed little boys much more seriously than a raggedy orphan with dirt smudged on his face.

He did lament that he would have less of an excuse to roll up his sleeves in the warehouse. He _hadn't_ been blind to the lingering looks that he got from Hermione when he revealed a bit of forearm. But, all thoughts of Hermione had to be put from his mind for the moment.

Tom pulled a hankerchief from his pocket, using it to wipe off his bloody knuckles, not satisfied until all traces of his fight were gone. He had brought Evan down to the docks with him to help sort out a captain who had unfortunately lost a large quantity of goods for his gang, which had in turn lost a large amount of money. If there was something that Tom couldn't abide by, it was sloppy business, and the captain and his bruised face and broken ribs could attest to that. Tom would give him one more chance before taking more drastic measures.

"I don't see why we didn't just kill him and dump him in the delta." Evan said from Tom's side, his arms crossed like a petulant child.

Tom bristled, having his decisions questions. Evan Rosier had become an increasing thorn in Tom's side, always having something negative to say, despite the fact that their buisness was thriving. He knew that it had all started when they brought Hermione on board, but even Evan was finding less and less to complain about her. Still, Tom knew that Evan would let the girl go in heartbeat if he were in charge of the decisions.

Rounding on his associate, Tom did little to hide his disappointment. "The crew has always been reliable. I won't punish them for one mistake. If he fucks it up again, I will reevaluate." Evan was by no means an integral part of the gang, and Tom wondered if he'd made a mistake bringing him in all those years ago. Evan had been a bit of a conman, prior to joining Riddle's gang, working his way through the wealthy families in the south and making plenty of enemies along the way. Tom had seen his potential and helped him out with some legal fees, but he was wondering if the pay back had been worth it.

Their conversation was interrupted when a well-dressed, good looking young man bowled into Evan, before apologising profusely. "Oh, I am so sorry sir." The man said, before shuffling along, his eyes wide and hands buried in his pocket.

Evan was annoyed, but Tom could only smirk, his blue eyes following the steps of the boy. Cocking his head to the side, he wondered if the boy was much older than Hermione was. Evan wanted to head home, but Tom waved him off, subtly pointing to the boy. "Watch him work." He instructed.

The boy bumped into another person, a woman this time. The youth pressed one hand on the woman's upper arm, excused as helping to steady her. While she was too busy battling her eyelashes at good looks and a charming smile, it was easy to see that his other hand was slipping into her purse and pulling out some money.

Beside him, Tom could see Evan snarling, his own hands patting his pockets, only to find them suspiciously empty. "Oi! That blighter took my wallet!" Evan cried, loud enough to attract the attention of others in the crowd, including the woman's beau.

Tom watched in annoyance as the pickpocket's arm was grabbed by the husband, not allowing him to flee. Of course Evan would have to go and ruin someone else's con just because he was too thick to realize his wallet had been lifted. Still, the boy had potential, potential Tom could definitely use to his advantage.

But, to further complicate matters, Evan's outburst had also attracted the attention of a nearby police officer. Tom was delighted to see that it was just a young policeman. They were always the easiest to crack.

Pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, Tom made his way over to the group, leaving Evan behind gaping at him. The young man was already in handcuffs by the time Tom got there, patting his hand on the officer's back. "Now, officer, surely this young man here doesn't need to go to jail. He's just a boy." Tom used his most saccharine voice, hoping to win over the woman at least.

To his surprise, the man just sneered at him. "What, is he one of yours, Riddle?"

"No." Tom responded calmly, unsurprised that he recognized him. "I am sure that this young man just made a terrible mistake, and I am sure he doesn't need to go to jail to learn his lesson." He was annoyed that the officer had a bit of lip, but Tom was determined to get this settled. This would leave the boy in his debt. "Surely there is _something_ that I can do to help smooth things over, Officer...Thomas." His eyes searched the other man's face, looking for the name on the badge, so the officer would be sure to know that he _wouldn't_ be forgotten.

"No, Riddle. I am afraid that there is nothing that you can do for me." Officer Thomas said pointedly, catching Tom completely off guard. There was nothing that a little money couldn't get accomplished in this City, but apparently this worthless little beat cop had a different idea. Turning on his heel, Tom returned to Evan's side. This was something that he was going to have to deal with.

* * *

He had to wait over the weekend to get the bail amount to get the young pickpocket out of jail. Since he was arrested on a Friday afternoon, no judge could see him until the following Monday morning, much to Tom's annoyance. While he was waiting, he spent most of his time finding out as much about him as possible.

The boy was called Regulus Black, and he'd only just turned twenty-one, making him about two years older than Hermione. He was from a well established family in Georgia. He had an older brother who had turned out to be somewhat of a fuckup, spending his time gambling, whoring and drinking - or in other words, Tom's perfect customer. Wanting to please his parents, he seemed that Regulus had headed to New Orleans to attend Tulane himself, with ambitions of getting a degree in political science.

As far as Tom could tell, Black had no run-ins with the law in the past. He could find no hint of an arrest record, which made his foray into pickpocketing even more interesting. Perhaps he had some kind of gambling debt that he was trying to repay? No matter what the case, Tom could recognize talent, and he had a feeling that he could use the talents that Regulus had. He'd always needed a lawyer, after all.

Regulus's bail was set at a measly five thousand dollars, the totality of which was hidden in Tom's breast pocket. He'd informed Evan that he was going to garnish it from his upcoming pay, because he was the whole reason that Tom was having to pay the gaoler anyway. Well, he wouldn't have to go down to the jail if Potter had just taken his fucking bribe, but Tom supposed he was paying one way or the other. He didn't really care _who_ he paid, so long as he got what he wanted in the end.

"I'm off," Tom said, tipping his hit towards Antonin, who was busy pasting labels to their new bottles of whiskey. "Keep an eye on this one," he pointed in the direction of Evan, who was barely able to restrain his rage after being told off in front of all the others.

"I don't know why you are wasting your time with such naive children," Evan snarled. "They aren't little orphans that need to be loved. They are trouble - likely to crack at the first sign of trouble from the police, and I don't fancy doing a stint like Rab did."

Antonin snorted at that. "Seems that Hermione has done more around here in the last few months than you've ever done," Antonin retorted. "Maybe you should keep your mouth shut unless you have the money to back up the shit you're spewing."

Confident that Tony would be able to keep Evan in line while he was gone, Tom knew that he was going to have to think long and hard about what to do with the man. Heading out of the warehouse, Tom made his way across town to the jail, before paying the bail to get Regulus Black out of jail.

Regulus looked surprised to see him when he was finally let out of his cell. "You bailed me out?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice. "I thought my parents might have found out."

"I did bail you out, Regulus," Tom responded, pleased with the young man's reaction so far.

"You know who I am?" He asked curiously, his eyes a mercurial shade of grey.

"I did a bit of looking into you," Tom revealed. "I would love to chat about it with you on the way back to my warehouse. The way I see it, I bailed you out. You owe me that much at least." He pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket before offering Regulus one as well.

"But you're...you're Tom Riddle!" Regulus said, a bit of eagerness bleeding into his voice. "What could you possibly want to talk to me about?"

Tom was pleased - more than pleased - at the reaction he got. It was good to know that his name had clout even with the pretty rich boys in the Universities. Deciding that they were far enough away from the jail and looking around to make sure no one was listening in, Tom elaborated. "Well, Regulus, I was very impressed with your skill. You pinched a wallet off of one of my men, someone who has been with me for over five years, and he didn't even notice until I pointed it out to him. I could make use of some of your skills, show you the ropes and the like. You could go much farther than just stealing a woman's pocket change."

Regulus, apparently, didn't even need to think it over before he was wholeheartedly agreeing. "Yes, absolutely. I will do whatever you ask of me. I am sure that I have a lot to learn." His cheeks went a bit pink, and his age showed now more than ever.

"Yes you do," Tom agreed, not wanting him to think it was going to be easy. He didn't want Regulus to crumble when things weren't as easy as a rich kid like him was used to. He didn't want Evan to be proven right. "Tell me Regulus-"

"Call me Reggie." The other man offered with a grin.

"Reggie, why did you get into pick pocketing in the first place? Do you have some kind of gambling get to be paid off?" Tom questioned, wanting to be sure that he didn't have any skeletons in his closet that could eventually mess with Tom's business.

He ran his fingers through his long, wavy hair, a hint of a grin on his face. "Honestly, I was just a bit bored. Classes are...much easier than I expected. My professors are all slobbering all over me, trying to stay on my good side, because of my name. I wanted to see if I could do it at first, but it was much easier than I ever thought it could be. Once I was successful, well...I guess the rush just kind of takes over you, you know?"

Tom nodded knowingly. "I know exactly what you mean. You know, Reggie, I think this is going to end up being quite a good partnership, for both of us. Tell me, do you like whiskey?"

* * *

The morning after Hermione had woken up with the memory of Tom curled around her body, she knew that she needed some outside advice. The night still swam in her daydreams, and she swore that his scent still lingered in her blankets, keeping her safe at night. Her heart raced when she thought about how he'd pressed _every_ inch of himself against her body.

It was a huge step in their relationship, but she'd still gotten no word from Tom that it was anything more than a business relationship. Complicating matters was the fact that Tom hadn't waited for her to wake up before leaving. Instead he'd left her a scrawled note, thanking her for her hospitality and a promise that he would see her again soon. She was nearly too embarrassed to admit it, but she pressed that note between the pages of her favorite book, not wanting to chance losing it.

She could at least now admit that she did _want_ something more than a business relationship with Tom. Now that she knew what it was like to kiss him, she couldn't imagine wanting to do it with anyone else. But, she needed to figure out a way, a delicate way, to tease out what he thought of her. She didn't want to spook him after all.

Writing to Juniper seemed the obvious choice. She was obviously a woman who was well versed in social graces, she knew Tom well enough, and she had a sickeningly sweet marriage with Abraxas. Juniper had written back eagerly, agreeing to meet Hermione in the City. "I've heard lots of good things about a _muffaletta_ that I have just been dying to try!"

When the day arrived, Hermione felt as if her stomach was all in knots, and she wondered just why she was so nervous about telling Juniper. Perhaps it was because she'd never had anyone to discuss her love life with, or perhaps it was the fact that she'd never had a love life prior to Tom. What if Juniper thought she was quite scandalous for allowing a man to stay overnight, and sleep in her bed? What if she ruined the one female friendship she had?

Hermione politely inquired after Juniper's family while they were waiting for their food to arrive, curious to know more about baby Lucius and her friend was only too happy to extrapolate. Apparently, he was busy working on taking his first steps and Abraxas was the epitome of doting father. Despite their rocky beginnings to their relationship, Hermione found herself tickled pink by the idea of Abraxas having such an active role in his child's life.

"So, Hermione, tell me. You told me that you were looking for a little bit of relationship advice in your letter, and I must admit that my interest is piqued," Juniper said with a curious look on her face.

She could already feel her cheeks heating up from what she was about to reveal, and she hadn't even said anything to Juniper yet. Tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear, Hermione looked up shyly at Juniper. "Well, you see, it's about Tom-"

"Oh! Juniper!" A familiar voice practically screeched from across the room.

Hermione turned to look up and was annoyed to see Bellatrix Lestrange. Striding over to the table, the third woman bent over at gave Juniper a tight hug that was barely returned. "Oh, fancy running into you, here, Juni," Bellatrix cooed, as though they were best friends. The look on Juniper's face at the use of the nickname lead Hermione to believe that they weren't. At all. Bellatrix turned to look at the other occupant of the table, pretending as if she had only just noticed her. "Oh, hello. Hermione, is it?"

Unable to hold back a snort of disgust, Hermione rolled her eyes at the pettiness of Rodolphus's wife. "Please don't act like you don't know who I am, Bellatrix," she said, disdainfully. "If I have the misfortune of having to see you, you will at least acknowledge me for who I am."

Bellatrix ignored Hermione's admonishment, instead choosing to find a chair to pull over to the table, not even asking if she could join the other two for lunch. She waved down a waiter and ordered, willfully ignoring the annoyed glares of Hermione and the polite disappointment of Juniper Malfoy.

Taking a sip of her tea, Juniper cautiously looked at Hermione. "So, Hermione, I believe that you were going to tell me something about Tom?" She broached cautiously.

Hermione gave her friend a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. There was no way that she was going to discuss her relationship - potential or otherwise - with Tom Riddle in front of Bellatrix. She knew that Rodolphus's wife had some kind of weird obsession with her boss, and likely fancied herself as Tom's favorite. If Hermione suggested that she had any kind of self-consciousness in her relationship with him, she knew that Bellatrix would pounce on the opportunity to drive a wedge between them.

"What could _you_ possibly have to talk about Tom? You are just a chemist," Bellatrix sneered, looking Hermione up and down. "You are just an orphan that he pulled off the streets. You can't possibly comprehend the lifestyle that the rest of us come from. Isn't that right, Juniper?"

The said chemist bit the inside of her cheek hard, so that she didn't say anything truly horrid. She knew that she was from a vastly different social class than Juniper and Abraxas, and probably even Bellatrix and Rodolphus. But, Juniper had never once made her feel as if she didn't belong or that she didn't deserve her friendship. Further, Hermione hadn't forgotten the way that Tom had opened up to her, telling her all kinds of things from his past. _He_ certainly hadn't had a privileged upbringing either.

Forcing a sweet smile on her face, Hermione turned to face Bellatrix. "Oh, well, Tommy was just so pleased with some work that I did for him the other week, and he told me that I could have _anything_ I wanted." She knew it was a bit petty to rub this in Bellatrix's face, but she really couldn't help herself. The other woman was just so smug, and she needed to be knocked down off her high horse. "He suggested a trip to Havana, even, and I am thinking about taking him up on his offer. I know that Juniper and Abraxas went there not long ago, and I was just hoping to get some travel advice."

Bellatrix was left gaping like a fish, while Juniper waxed lyrical about how wonderful Cuba was, and how much Tom _must_ appreciate her for sending her on such a luxurious trip. Getting one up on Bellatrix tasted sweet.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I am glad you liked Regulus...he will definitely be sticking around, so look for him again. Y'all don't even know...I almost waited until Friday so that I could post this on Friday the 13th, haha. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter thirteen and be on the lookout for chapter fourteen soon!

* * *

Despite severely cutting back her hours at Ollivander's, she still found time to work there with him on occasion. The man had done so much for her through the years, and she didn't want to leave him out on a limb just because she was attending University now. Really, Ollivander was happy for her - he knew that it was such a wonderful opportunity for her and she couldn't exactly turn it down. Still, he was happy to have her work a few hours on the weekend, to help him out with inventory.

He wasn't as thrilled with her new friends that seemed to stop by much more frequently, but maintained that as long as they didn't bother the other customers, he didn't complain too much. If he knew who they were or who they were associated with, he didn't mention it.

It was on a cool, autumn day that Antonin was visiting her, smoking like a chimney. He was waiting for her to finish up filling a few final orders so that he could take her a bit out of town, as he'd somehow finally convinced her to let him teach her how to shoot a gun. It still wasn't something that she was thrilled about, but she supposed that it couldn't hurt to be a bit more educated on the topic.

Another puff of smoke filled the tiny shop, making Hermione sneeze, and send a bit of powder flying off the scale. "Oh, I wish you wouldn't do that in here," she said with a frown. "It's a nasty habit."

Antonin smirked at her and took another drag. "You don't seem to mind so much when _Tommy_ does it," he prodded, delighting in the way her cheeks went flaming red.

Oh, Christ, she still couldn't believe that she'd called the notorious gangster and _murderer_ Tom Riddle _Tommy_ in front of Bellatrix. She just so enjoyed winding the other woman up that she couldn't help herself. As far as she could tell, only a very select few people could get away with calling him the nickname. Pressing her hands into her cheeks, she groaned. "Did Bellatrix tell you about that?"

"Oh, Bella couldn't _wait_ to come tattle on perfect little Granger," Antonin said with a smirk. Seeing her eyes go a bit wide, he could tell that she was clearly nervous about overstepping some line with Tom. "Don't worry, though, I think he liked it a bit. He got that little smile when he's quite pleased. I think that's a good sign."

"Yes, but was he pleased that Bellatrix had told him, or that I had called him the name?" she questioned, not feeling much better about it at all.

Antonin brought his hand up to rub against his chin, scratching against his permanent five o'clock shadow, as though he were considering her words. Before he could answer her though, a customer was coming into the shop, the little bell ringing as the door was pushed over. Straightening up, Antonin moved over to the little rack of bottles as though he were perusing them, his back away from the man that entered.

"I have a prescription I need-" the man said, trying to project an air of importance, until it became clear that he recognized the shop girl. Then, he was an awkward, bumbling mess. "Oh, Hermione! What are you doing here?"

"McLaggen," Hermione greeted him suspiciously. "I work here." She said, annoyed that he had entered another of his domains. Trying to grab the prescription paper out of his hand, Hermione was surprised when he pulled it away from her at the last moment.

He was extremely embarrassed, if the color on his cheeks was anything to go by. But then, he straightened, tucking the paper in his back pocket, perhaps thinking that he could somehow salvage the situation. Leaning against the counter, he gave her what he assumed was a charming smile. "I didn't know you were a working girl, Granger. How very _enterprising_ of you."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she tried not to scoff when she noticed the way his eyes dropped to her breasts. "Just give me the paper, McLaggen, or get out of here," she smirked at him. "Or do you not want me to know about whatever kind of odd... _condition_ that you've got." Based on how sketchy he was being she could only assume that it was something embarrassing enough for him not to just let her fill it.

Instead, he seemed to double down on trying to woo her. "Tell me, Hermione, what time do you get off? I'd love to take you out for dinner." He didn't notice the snort of derision from Antonin, thankfully.

She jutted her jaw out at him and her hands on her hips. "For the thousandth time, McLaggen, no thank you. I have no interest in going to dinner with you. Now, either buy something, or leave. I don't have time to chit chat with you."

Perhaps sensing that it was a hopeless situation, McLaggen tried to act cavalier, as though her dismissal didn't bother him one bit, before turning on his heel and leaving in a huff, slamming the door behind him. Hermione sighed as soon as he'd left, glad that he was gone.

"And just who was that, Hermione?" Antonin asked, pointedly, his facial expression showing that he was _not_ amused. As their friendship had grown, it was clear that Antonin saw her somewhat like a sister, and he was quite protective of her. Hermione was used to being such a strong woman, but had come to realize that it was nice to have someone else looking out for her too. "He seemed overly familiar with you."

"Just a boy from my classes. Honestly, he is nothing to trouble yourself over." She tried to blow off his concerns, mostly just mortified that he had witnessed Cormac's bad behavior. "I can handle him myself."

Antonin snorted. "Does Tom know about it?" he questioned, catching her off guard.

"I don't see why I should trouble him with something so insignificant," Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "He's a very busy man, and I would hate to bother him." It was true. She was afraid if she told him about Weasley or McLaggen, he would laugh it off as a petty school drama. And, it wasn't as if either of the men had been aggressive with her. They just didn't know when to take no for an answer.

Her friend shrugged. "I don't know, I think that Tom fancies you," he revealed with a shrug of his shoulders.

Now _that_ truly caught Hermione off guard. Yes, they had kissed, and Tom had stayed overnight at her house, but they had never clearly communicated their feelings for one another. She pegged Tom as not opening up to people very often, never wanting to get too close to others. But Antonin likely knew him best of anyone in the gang, and she couldn't deny that his admission had her heart fluttering in her chest in excitement. She was unable to stop a goofy grin from spreading across her face.

Swatting Antonin against the chest, she tried to keep a straight face. "Oh, hush you. Now, stop bothering me, so I can finish up here, and you can show me the mechanics of a gun."

Antonin returned her smile, before turning to continue examining the assorted vials and bottles of medicines and poisons that lined the shop walls. Before she could resume her work, though, he turned and gave her a thoughtful look. "Promise me you will let Tom know if he keeps bothering you? If he does something that you don't like."

Biting her lower lip, wondering if that was a promise she could actually keep, she gave in to his concern. "I promise."

* * *

After Antonin had told her his suspicions about the depths of Tom's feelings, she wasn't too surprised when he approached her to take her out on a date. She had been looking rather glamorous, up to her elbows in mash, when he'd approached her. "Hermione, Abraxas told me you did very well on your first exams. Apparently Severus said you are leading the class right now."

She had been unable to hide her smile. Who didn't like their accomplishments to be recognized? It was even better when it was Tom who was praising her. There was something about him that just made you want to bask in his personality. He was electric, intriguing, compelling. "Yes, I was rather pleased with my results," she responded, trying to sound humble.

"Well, I for one think that it's cause to celebrate," he told her, his dark blue eyes full of mischief. "I am going to take you out to dinner this weekend to celebrate our good fortune, stumbling on such a gifted chemist." His voice dropped a bit for his next words, "I have been quite...pleased with how our relationship has worked out thus far."

There it was, Hermione had thought, her heart stuttering. Their _relationship_. Really, there was no other explanation for it, was there? She had been feeling for a while that their working relationship had transformed into something far more personal. After all, what was more personal than going out on a date to one of the most fabulous restaurants in all of New Orleans?

When she'd returned home that night, she'd found a package waiting for her from Juniper. In it was a little note, mentioning that Tom had asked her to select a new dress for her date, and an added p.s. that they still needed to discuss that development. She'd eagerly ripped open the brown paper parcel to reveal a red satin dress that she couldn't wait to slip on.

The weekend arrived _eventually_ and Hermione spent the whole day indulging in some girlish silliness, wanting to make sure that she was perfect for Tom. Spending the time to actually sort out her hair meant that it fell around her shoulders in smooth waves. She spent nearly an hour huddled in front of the tiny mirror in her tiny bathroom, trying to get her rouge and lipstick just right, before it was finally time to put the dress on. It fit like a dream, making Hermione feel like a queen.

Tom arrived right on time, a honk of his car horn making Hermione run to her window. Sticking her head out, she shouted that she would be right down. Grabbing her purse, she sprinted down the stairs, not even taking the time to notice the surprised and confused look on Neville Longbottom's face.

Opening the car door, Hermione eagerly slipped in across the smooth leather seats. She tried not to stare too much at Tom, who looked exceedingly handsome. He was wearing a new suit in navy blue that brought out his eyes, and a hint of cologne that made her want to bury her nose into his neck and never leave. Tom preened under her eager assessment of him, eventually pulling her to him to press a hungry kiss against her lips, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth.

Eventually, he ended the kiss, giving her a smirk, before telling her they needed to get going if they were going to make their reservation. He drove fast - making her gasp in surprise - through the shining and flashing lights of the French Quarter, taking them to their destination.

The restaurant was much more elegant that she could have ever imagined, and she was glad that Juniper had sent over the dress. Nothing she owned previously would have fit in here. Tom lead her by the hand, following the maitre'd to their table. Tom took the seat that would allow him to look around the room, and she wondered if it was because he was interested in the other diners, or if he felt as if he had to protect his back

A menu was placed before her, and Hermione was shocked to see some of the prices. Unable to hold her tongue, Hermione voiced her concern. "Tom, this is...incredibly expensive. I couldn't possibly order from here." Even when her parents had been alive, she hadn't even dreamed about being exposed to this kind of lifestyle.

Tom, though...Tom seemed to exude money and wealth. He didn't even bother looking at what the prices were. She supposed she should have known this based on the price he paid her for the alcohol she distilled, her stockpile in the vase growing larger everyday. "Nonsense, Hermione. This is a special occasion, and you are worth it. If you don't want to order, I can do it for you."

Again, she would normally feel quite annoyed at having someone offer to order for her, as if she were a small child who couldn't figure it out herself, but with Tom, she found the trait endearing. Nodding in agreement, she decided she should probably trust his judgement anyway, because she didn't know what half of the listed dishes were in the first place.

A waiter came by quickly enough, and Tom pressed a _very_ large bill into his hand, before ordering them a bottle of wine and a large platter of oysters. Hermione was becoming anxious at just how brazen Tom was, ordering something that was very much illegal. She scolded him, feeling a bit like a square, once the wine was poured in front of her. "Tom! What if someone sees and says something?"

He gave her a smirk. "Don't worry, princess. Remember, I run this town, and nothing happens without _my_ final say. I own the police and there is nothing to worry about with them," he told her smoothly, though in the back of his mind, he was a bit perturbed about the way that the young police officer had ignored him the week before, despite knowing who he was.

Looking around the room, Tom looked at all the patrons of the restaurant, trying to see if there was anyone of interest there. It didn't take long for him to focus on one couple in particular. Pushing up from the table, he gave Hermione his apologies. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I've just noticed someone here that I have to speak to. Just a bit of business and I will be right back."

She nodded, allowing him to cross the room to wear a messy haired man was sitting with his date, a woman with fiery red hair. He strode right up to their table, completely catching him off guard. "Good evening Officer Potter," he greeted them with his biggest smile, trying to keep him off kilter. "And this must be your lovely fiancee, Miss Weasley," he gave the red haired woman a little bow, and she tittered at his charming air. Perfect.

"What are you doing here?" Potter questioned, obviously far more suspicion than his future wife. Well, he supposed that Potter actually knew what it was that he was capable of.

"Oh, well, I just wanted to tell you that I am having some worries about one of our previous arrangements falling through," Tom said, smiling serenely, though internally he was anything but. "One of your officers seemed very confused that a long standing relationship was in place. And I would so hate for anything with your finances to go wrong."

"Harry, what is he talking about?" the Weasley girl questioned, obviously starting to get a little bit concerned.

Tom just laughed, and pressed his hand against Ginny's shoulder. "Oh, nothing to trouble your head with - just a bit of police business."

"Well, Riddle, there is a new chief in town," Harry said, his tone of voice patronizing.

Tom bristled. "Dumbledore...he and I have history."

Then you will know that he is definitely shaking things up, and unfortunately, all previous _arrangements_ are being reviewed. I'm afraid you will find it much more difficult to do business with the police department from now on," Harry responded with a grin on his face. Of course, after all this time, he must have realized that he could also get a bit more out of the arrangement if the other police were less likely to take bribes as well. Tom simultaneously admired him and hated him. "Things will be different now."

Replacing the charming smile on his face, Tom nodded. "Of course they will be different. Times are changing. I just want to be sure that nothing would happen to jeopardize your wedding," he said, giving Ginny a pointed look. Giving the pair one last perfect grin, he turned to return to his own table. "Well, I ought to get going back to my own date. I am sure she's already put out that I left her to conduct some business."

The Weasley girl politely said goodbye, but Potter still seemed to be fuming. Perhaps he hadn't told his future wife about all of the things he did in his line of work. Maybe she was completely in the dark about his sources of income. He heard her whisper to Potter, asking just who he was and how he knew him.

But, he wasn't able to hear Harry asking Ginny if he knew the woman that Riddle was with. "I don't know what it is, but she seems familiar," he said, intensely.

Ginny just snorted and laughed, before questioning him. "Harry, how could you possibly recognize her? All you can see is the back of her head."

It was true that she was turned away from them, but there was something about her hair that looked quite distinctive. He was positive that he recognized it from somewhere, he just couldn't put his finger on it. Staring at their table, he tried to work out who the mystery woman was, but all he could detect was how Riddle seemed to soften around her, little wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes while he laughed at whatever she said.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! A lot of you were intrigued by the whole Harry - Tom interaction/showdown, and you can bet Harry is going to be showing his speckled face again soon! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates, and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter fourteen and be on the lookout for chapter fifteen soon!

* * *

"Ahh, Miss Granger is it?" A voice called out to her across the quad, making her stop in her tracks. She wasn't used to being recognized on the campus outside of her classes. She was sure most of her classmates would never dream of acknowledging her presence in public, outside of McLaggen and Weasley of course.

Turning around, she was surprised to see Fenrir Greyback leaning against the trunk of a massive willow tree, spanish moss blowing in the breeze. Somehow, he still seemed like a giant, even in front of the hundred years old sentry. "Mr. Greyback," she greeted, hiding her annoyance behind a forced smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I told you you could call me Fenrir, beautiful," he responded, reaching down to play with the ends of her hair, making her blush. He seemed to puff up at her response, gaining more confidence in their interaction, if that was possible. He seemed to ooze machismo and he was very self-assured. "I'm here on work."

She felt her eyes widen to a comical level, and her mind raced as to just why he would have business on the Tulane campus. Her heart beat sped up with the thought that someone she knew might soon be dead. "Oh, well, I'm afraid that I won't be of very much assistance to you, Fenrir," she replied, hoping to end their interaction as quickly as possible. It was clear that Fenrir had a passing interest in her, and with the way things were going with Tom, she didn't think it was wise to give Fenrir any false hope.

"Actually, I hoped that you would be able to help me," he told her, his blue eyes looking her up and down in a rather lewd way. "Tom sent me, you see. Thought you might have a lead on where I could get some strychnine."

Hermione shuddered, feeling a bit annoyed that Tom would suggest her for this endeavor. Hadn't he heard her say that she didn't want to be responsible for anyone's death? It was easy for her to pretend she didn't know about all angles of his gang's business if she stuck to distilling, and it _did_ keep her conscious clearer. She could practically hear Rosier scolding her for being such a naive little girl.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure that I can help you there," she insisted, her mind lingering to the horrific drawings of humans in the throes of strychnine poisoning, every muscle tensed in agony. At one point, she had stared at those images for hours, in a big book of poisons that Ollivander kept, imagining what it would be like. Now, it didn't quite hold the same appeal. "Nasty poison, strychnine...it's supposed to be an incredibly painful way to die. Who pissed you off?" She questioned.

"More like who pissed Tom off." Fenrir responded with a grin, knowing that he was making her uncomfortable a relishing in that fact. She knew now she would be desperately reading the papers, looking for whatever University student or professor had sparked Tom's ire. "Speaking of our mutual employer, I'm still a bit put out that he stole you right out from under my nose at the party the other week. You should make it up to me. Let's go get dinner."

She bit her lower lip, mulling over his words. It was true that Tom and her were not an official couple, but she very much wanted to see where their relationship would go. She knew that going to dinner with Fenrir would spell certain disaster for that. "I don't think Tom would like that very much," she responded, weakly.

To her surprise, Fenrir did not seem that bothered by her rejection. "Yes, the two of you seemed very cozy out on the dancefloor," he said with a grin that was somewhere between lewd and irritated. "You know how to put on quite the little display."

Her cheeks heated up, embarrassed at the way that she'd thrown herself at Tom when they were dancing. She could still remember the heat of his body as she clung to him, his spicy, smoky scent in her nostrils as he kissed her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she insisted primly, smoothing down her skirts after they fluttered up in the wind.

"I think we both know that you do, pet," his voice dropped down to a growl, while his thumb caressed her cheekbone. "Well, if you ever change your mind about Tommy boy, just know that I'd be up for it."

She wasn't sure if it was her virgin sensibilities or her annoyance that she might be passed around from one man to the next at their whims, but his words made her increasingly angry. Knowing that it wasn't wise to stick around the dangerous man, especially with so many witnesses to their conversation lurking about, Hermione decided it was time to leave.

Forcing herself to maintain a neutral expression, she swept her eyes over Fenrir's cocksure face, knowing that he _enjoyed_ making her feel uncomfortable. "Good afternoon, Fenrir," she bid him farewell before turning on her heel, leaving him to stand alone under the tree.

* * *

Shuffling into his favorite cigar shop, Evan Rosier scowled knowing that he wouldn't be able to get his usual box. Money had been a bit tighter than usual this month, seeing as Tom had insisted he pay to bail Regulus Black out of jail on account of his mouth getting him put there.

It made Evan long for the days when he was conning rich old spinsters out of their inheritances, even if it meant a semi-nomadic existence. He could never stay in one town for long, but he was sure there were parts of the Carolinas he could return to now without being recognized. The money had been good then - and his to do with as he wanted - and the women were eager to please.

He spoke with the man behind the counter for a while, making small talk. After years of patronizing this shop, the two of them had grown close enough to be friendly with one another. "If you have time, Mr. Rosier, I have some boxes in the back, fresh from Cuba. I could give you first pick, since you're such a good customer."

It was a lovely offer, and Evan found himself nodding, his selfishness insisting that he get the cream of the crop. He was a bloody Rosier after all! Following the man behind the counter, he made his way into the back, breathing in that heady scent of aged tobacco, hoping that he'd gotten some Romeo y Julietas.

The door closed behind them with an ominous _click_ , at he was suddenly aware that he was not alone with the shopkeep. Snarling, Evan pulled out his gun, pointing it at the man who had set him up. "What the fuck is the meaning of this?" he demanded, wondering when he'd let his guard down.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Rosier," the feeble man begged, hands up in front of his chest as though that would do him _any_ good whatsoever. "They insisted that they have this meeting with you, and I couldn't say no."

Evan turned his attention to the two other men, and was dismayed to realize that they were police officers. Anger churned in his belly while he imagined all sorts of scenarios in which that _bitch_ Granger had snitched on him. And now, he was sure that he was going to have to go up to the Farm, just like Rabastan had.

"Put the gun down, Rosier," the bigger one said, with a smirk. "And please don't hold Marco here responsible. We kind of muscled our way in here so that we could speak with you."

Evan sneered at them. "Oh, how wonderful of you. Now what the hell do you want?"

"Well, I am Officer Shacklebolt, and my friend, Officer Thomas here, said that you might be able to help us with a mutual problem that we have," Shacklebolt said pointedly.

Internally, Evan could hear the wheels turning in his head. Had they found out Hermione's role in poisoning Adrian Pucey? He was on the force after all, and he knew that police detested people who killed one of their own. Letting his eyes rake over the form of the other man - Officer Thomas - he realized there was something familiar about him. Then it clicked - he was the officer that had arrested Black.

"I see you remember me," Officer Thomas said with a grimace. "I noticed how annoyed you were when Tom Riddle tried to get that man out of trouble, especially after he'd pickpocketed you. I bet you hated being upstaged by someone like him."

Evan nodded, knowing that he had been annoyed that Tom would go to bat for a little street urchin like Black. He didn't see what was so special about him. "Yeah, what of it?" he questioned, wondering just what the police were trying to get out of their cooperation.

"Well, let's just say that there is a new order in town, Rosier," Shacklebolt said, folding his massive arms over his chest. "Riddle's reach doesn't extend nearly as far as it once did, and our new chief wants him taken care of, once and for all."

Knowing that it wasn't wise to acknowledge his association with Riddle, despite everyone in the room being aware of it, Evan shuffled his feet. "What's that got to do with me, anyway?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. No matter what they were trying to get at, he did not appreciate being tricked this way.

"Help us find a way to bring Tom Riddle down," Shacklebolt offered, trying to sound off-hand, but doing an awful job at it. "Come on, we've all seen how much you hate him pushing you around, never listening to your advice. He's going down anyway, and this will just hasten the process. Not only that, but you can get something out of it too."

"What's that exactly?" Evan asked with a snort. He wondered if these two simpletons had any idea of what they were truly asking of him. To snitch on someone like Tom was essentially a death sentance if he should ever find out who was truly behind it. Just because he had been feeling unappreciated lately didn't mean that he had a death wish.

"Well, we won't arrest you alongside him and the rest of his hooligans. You can go free," Officer Thomas promised. "You won't be held on any charges - you'd get a clean slate."

"We can even promise you a large cut of whatever money we recover from Riddle," Shacklebolt added to sweeten the pot.

Evan took a deep breath, considering the men's words. Obviously, a large cut of Riddle's money would be incredibly substantial. He could go anywhere in the world after he flipped on them, making sure that he escaped the clutches of anyone who wasn't picked up by police. He for one didn't fancy to get caught by Greyback, but the rougarou wouldn't be able to get him if he was in New York City or San Francisco.

Feeling his resentment and annoyance from the last few months bubbling up inside of him, remembering the way that Tom and even Tony had been treating him was quickly tipping the scales. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. But next time we talk, I'll find _you_. Don't ever put my life in jeopardy again," he snarled, before shoving past the two men, walking out the door to the back room.

He couldn't wait for his new life to begin.

* * *

She wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, but Hermione had come to walk around the streets of New Orleans with a new found confidence. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was now acquaintances, and in some cases friends, with the scariest members society that the city had to offer. Why should she worry about where she was walking when she'd danced with Fenrir Greyback? When Tom Riddle had slept in her bed? When Bellatrix Lestrange had tried to kill her with a stare?

She surveyed the sidewalks with her head held high, trying not to smirk as she passed people. If only they had any idea of who she was, what she was capable of, how much money she had hidden in her flat, then they would pay more attention to her.

Maybe she should have been paying more attention to her surroundings when she turned up from the river to head to Tom's warehouse because she was caught completely off guard when someone pulled her into the little alley between two buildings. A scream was caught in her throat when a hand was pressed over her mouth, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

Turning in his grasp, Hermione was shocked to see that it was Detective Potter who had grabbed her. " _You_ were the one Riddle was with a dinner last weekend," he hissed, apparently quite annoyed to discover the identity of the mystery woman. "I knew you seemed familiar. What are you doing with Riddle?" he demanded, holding her by her shoulders.

Hermione was far too annoyed and afraid to answer any of his questions. Instead, she drove her heel into the top of his shoe, hoping that it hurt. "Unhand me this instant, Potter!" she seethed. Her mind was whirring, wondering just how much Potter knew. They were so _close_ to the warehouse, and Hermione was horrified that she might have lead the police right to it. Did he know about the cache of alcohol just two blocks away.

He didn't let her go and instead just shook her harder. "Did he contract you to kill Pucey? Did he get Daphne Pucey in touch with you?" His green eyes looked rather wild, and Hermione mused that he probably thought that he had stumbled on a great conspiracy.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hermione replied, hoping to remain calm, but she could feel her anxiety rising when he _wouldn't_ let her go. Pulling her arm back farther, she was still unable to get away from him, and unaware of why he was being so insistent on this point.

"She asked you to let her go, Potter," a voice called from the end of the alley. And not just any voice, but Tom's voice! Hermione didn't think she'd ever been happier to hear him before in her life.

Potter immediately let go of her arm, which caused Hermione to windmill back, just barely able to stop her fall. "What, come to help your little girlfriend?" Potter taunted Tom, with a silly little smirk on his face, probably thinking that he was quite tough. "It's no use, Riddle. I know that she's responsible for Pucey's death, and I am going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another."

Tom stomped over towards the other man, pure murder on his face, before rearing his arm back. Potter didn't have a chance to react before Tom's fist was connecting with his face, breaking his glasses and his nose. Hermione flinched seeing the bright red blood dribble down his face. Before he had a chance to react, Tom had grabbed the bottom of Potter's jacket, pulling it up over his head. With his arms pinned back in the jacket, Potter was pretty much defenseless from the blows raining down on his head again and _again_.

The other man was crying out in pain, and once Tom judged he'd been hurt enough, Tom shoved Potter to the ground. Righting his jacket, the detective looked a sight, with his face bloodied and swollen.

Tom flexed his hand, easing the pain in his knuckles. He stared at the man who was lying on the ground, struggling to get up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wad of dollar bills, fanning them out, before throwing a few bills in Potter's face. "Stay the _fuck_ away from Hermione, Potter."

Snatching the money into his shaky fist, Potter threw the dollars on the ground, spitting blood after them. " _Fuck_ your money, Riddle. It's not worth anything in this city anymore."

That seemed to make Tom angrier than anything that Hermione had ever seen. His face was transformed into something hideous, and he turned back to the other man, who was still prone on the ground, his feet looking for purchase. Tom pulled a knife out of his pocket, taking his time to let the silver glint in the sunlight, before dropping to his knees.

Bending over Potter, Hermione couldn't see what he was doing to the detective, but judging on the screams wrenched from his throat. When he pulled away, Hermione could see a bleeding cut, in a sort of zigzag pattern on Potter's forehead. Tom sneered at the man once again. "Maybe this will help you remember who you are speaking to next time, Potter. Now, don't make the same mistake again."

He turned away, leaving the other man broken and bleeding in broad daylight, surrounded by bloodied bills. Grabbing Hermione by the hand, he pulled her away, even though her eyes kept turning back around to make sure that Potter wasn't coming after them. What if he came after them? Tom had just assaulted a policeman...wasn't he worried about being arrested?

He tugged her along, her feet tripping over themselves while she tried to keep up, until they were in the safety of the office of the warehouse. Shutting the door behind them, he pressed her back against the wood of the door. He stared into her eyes, breathing hard, before kissing her fiercely, his tongue immediately invading her mouth. Their tongues tangled for dominance, but with his hand in her hair, manipulating her just the way he wanted her, he was quickly crowned the victor. Though, if losing felt this good, she didn't mind.

Hermione couldn't find it in herself to be embarrassed by the moans she was emitting, her mind dizzy from what she'd just been through. Tom had been so violent, it was truly frightening, but now he was so passionate, so dominate, that it was making her mind spin with pleasure.

One of his hands dropped to her ass so that he could pull her closer to him, she could feel his arousal pressed into her belly, making her gasp. It felt intoxicating to know that she could make a man like Tom lose control. His other hand pulled her head back a bit further, revealing her neck to him, making her feel vulnerable. He pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to the pale column of flesh, biting with his teeth first before soothing with his tongue. Hermione groaned, feeling her heart pound against her ribcage and her sex tingle, wanting something more.

"Promise me," Tom insisted, fiercely between kisses that went lower down her decolletage. "Promise me that you're _mine_."

Giving into his demand was simple to her, as she knew it was true. "I promise, Tom. I promise I'm yours," she told him her hands holding onto his shoulders for purchase, wondering just what this meant for the two of them.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! If you are enjoying this story, I just want to give you a head's up that I will be posting a special Tomione one-shot for Halloween next Tuesday, so please check that out if you are interested! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Now, many of you know I usually respond to reviews, but I am getting married on Saturday! Ahh! I am going to try to respond to as many as I can, but no promises, since I will be busy with preparation, wedding, and honeymoon!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter fifteen and be on the lookout for chapter sixteen soon!

* * *

After she was thoroughly kissed, Tom reluctantly let Hermione go, running a bloody hand through his hair. A frustrated sigh made it clear that he still had a lot on his mind even after their brief moment together. "Wait here," he ordered her, indicating to the table with a wave of his hand, before leaving the office.

Antonin entered the office first. She could tell from his face that he was immediately concerned. "Is everything okay?" he questioned, cupping Hermione's chin in one hand, turning her head from side to side. "You've got blood on your face."

Hermione flinched, realizing it must be from when Tom had cut up Detective Potter. "Yes, it's not mine," she tried to reassure her friend. "There was an...incident with a police officer, and Tom…"

She didn't need to finish her sentence for Antonin to nod in understanding. "Bella came in all gleeful, telling Tommy that you were in the arms of some man in the alley. I don't think I've ever seen him so _jealous_ in a long time." He pressed his shoulder into her's, a smile on his face.

"No, the detective, he was questioning me, and he wouldn't let me go. Then Tom came and helped me," she explained, suddenly glad that Bellatrix _had_ tattled on her. She wasn't sure what would have happened to her had Tom not shown up when he did. Would Potter have tried to arrest her? Tom's insistence that she tell him she was his suddenly made a lot more sense, too. She was annoyed that he didn't trust her, but at the same time, she was glad to be in the safety of the warehouse.

Before they could talk on it more, the rest of the guys shuffled in, Abraxas, Rabastan and Evan taking the remaining chairs at the table, whilst the others stood. Bellatrix gave Hermione a hateful and disappointed look, her eyes lingering on the brunette's kiss bruised lips. Tom was the last to enter, and he closed the door behind him.

It appeared that his rage had only increased since he'd left the office. He paced back and forth in front of the door for a moment, trying to gain his composure. "Alright, business meeting," he finally said forcefully.

Hermione made a noise of protest. "Perhaps I should leave...if you have business to take care of?"

Tom waved her off. "You are as much a part of this business now as any of us," he said simply. The assertion filled her with a bit of warmth, delighted at being included, but at the same time she realized that he was talking about his _illegal_ business. Everything that they did meant she could be arrested at any time.

Taking a deep breath, her boss turned romantic interest addressed the room. "The New Orleans police department, since coming under the supervision of Chief Dumbledore, has decided that they are no longer in the business of taking bribes. Obviously, this can't continue to go on." He ran his hands through his hair again, trying desperately to hang onto his cool. "Rodolphus, Abraxas, what have you been able to find out about Dumbledore so far."

"He doesn't drink anywhere," Rodolphus said unhelpfully. "He mostly keeps to his mansion in the evenings, unless he is on police business."

"I've reached out to my people, but I haven't heard too much yet," Abraxas added, with a frown, knowing that it would make Tom mad. "Except, that he's been known to keep the company of Gellert Grindelwald in the evenings…"

Tom's eyebrows raised. It was a bit unusual for Dumbledore to be keeping Grindelwald's company, but it wasn't quite enough. "I don't want to blackmail him, I want to _destroy_ him," Tom hissed, his fists balled at his sides.

"You told me to find out who he was fucking…" Abraxas trailed off, with a frown.

Running his hands over his face, Tom looked up. "Alright, new plan. The police have forgotten how _good_ we've made life for them. Dumbledore has a hold on them now, but they just need to be reminded of what we are going back to. Abraxas, where do most of the police store their bribe money."

"At the jewelry store over on canal," Abraxas responded without hesitation. The police were forced to keep their money in locations alternative to banks, because the sums of money they would be depositing would be far too suspicious for someone on city pay.

"Of course. They have the big vault in the back?" Tom questioned, turning to look at Antonin, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward. "Will you have any trouble getting into it?"

"There's no safe in this city that I can't get into," Antonin said, leaning back with a smirk. Of course Antonin was excited for a bit of mischief. He was of the opinion that it had been far too quiet in the city for his liking the past few months. Business was good from just alcohol sales, yes, but sometimes he missed an old-fashioned shake down.

"Good," Tom said, his shoulders drooping for a moment while he thought everything over, before he looked up, giving the room a menacing grin. "I will take every last fucking _dime_ from that vault...show those fucking police just how much my money is worth in this city," he said, parroting Potter's words from previous. "And do you want to know why? Because I fucking _can!_ " He was shouting at the end.

"Alright - Hermione, we'll have you get a job at the jeweler. Observe for a week, get the swing of things. The robbery will occur during one of your shifts." Tom nodded to himself, as though all of his plans were coming along.

Bellatrix, not wanting to be forgotten, stepped forward at pressed her hand on Tom's back. "Oh, Tom, don't you think that the job might be better suited to me? I think I would do a very good job of observing the jewelry store," she cooed in her disgusting little baby voice.

Tom was irritated by her suggestion, shaking her hand off of him. "Don't be ridiculous, Bellatrix. Hermione's already worked at a shop, so she'll have a reference. You'd never manage to get hired there." Bellatrix looked disappointed, but held her tongue, not wanting to irk the object of her affections further by being annoying.

"Regulus, you will stop in sometime while Hermione is working and make note of any security that they might have," Tom continued. The younger man gave Hermione a friendly smile, and nodded.

"Once we get a better idea of what kind of resistance we will be working on, we can make plans for the robbery itself," the crime boss nodded to himself, happy with his current plan of attack. He felt much better now that he had a plan of action. He was going to make Potter's life a living hell. "This is going to be quite the payday, boys. So let's no fuck this up. I want everything to go _perfectly_ ," he insisted, a hint of a smile finally returning to his face.

* * *

Harry Potter was in a terrible mood when he stomped over to the restaurant next to his best friend's house. It was a tiny shack, but they had a great crawfish boil, throwing your meal down on top of thick white paper on your table - no silverware. You could also get a beer there if you knew who to ask for.

And Harry Potter _needed_ a beer after the day he had, and a chat with his friend, Ron. There was no way that he could return to his fiancee, Ginny, looking the way that he did. His nose was breaking, blackening one of his eyes. His glasses were shattered and barely held together by a bit of tape in the center. But worst of all was the brand new scar that was hidden under stark white bandage, a gift from Tom Riddle.

Ron looked up as soon as Harry entered the restaurant. "Christ, Harry!" he cried out, shocked at the state of him. "What the fuck happened to you?"

Harry sat down heavily next to Ron, his shoulders slumped, before signaling to Hannah, the girl behind the counter for a beer. He knew that it was a bit suspect to drink in public as a detective, especially since Dumbledore had come into power at the Department, but after the shit he went through, he needed to relax. "It was Riddle," he seethed, taking a sip out of the bottle disguised to look like rootbeer.

"I have been in his pocket for years," Harry started off on a bit of a rant, but Ron was too confused to do anything but listen. "Kept him out of police custody, looked the other way. And yes, he paid me for it. I always felt gross about it, but it was just the way the Department was run, you know?"

"Sure," Ron said with a shug of his shoulders. "And I am sure having the extra money helps. I mean, I know that Ginny loves her ring. Kid can't stop showing if off."

"Well, there's not going to be any extra money anymore," Harry told him, wondering if he'd actually made a terrible mistake. He was one of the last policemen willing to work with Riddle, which meant that he would have been able to ask for higher bribes if he wanted to. But he'd fucked it all up. "Dumbledore was the first one to suggest that taking them was wrong, but I didn't give it much thought until today."

"Yeah, what did you do to Riddle to deserve this treatment?" Ron questioned, eyeing Harry up and down. Sure, Harry wasn't the biggest man on the block, but he could hold his own in a fight. Not to mention, since he was police, a lot of people wouldn't dare to mess with him.

"I was just questioning this girl, who I guess he's dating. I am sure she's involved with a murder, and I just today figured out she is with Riddle," Harry explained, a confused look on his face. "He comes flying in out of nowhere, beats me for _touching_ her, and then throws money in my face. I got mad and threw it back at him and that's when he cut me. I'm never taking another _dime_ from him."

Ron patted his friend on his back, thinking that it was pretty terrible that he should be cut for just talking to some girl. "That's tough, mate," he consoled him before digging in to the fresh toss of corn, sausage, potatoes and crawfish.

The silence stretched between the friends before Harry finally got so frustrated he slammed his fist against the table. "Christ, I just don't understand what's so special about this _Hermione Granger,_ anyway."

"Did you say Hermione Granger?" Ron asked, his mouth still partially full of food.

"Yeah, do you know her?" Harry asked, finally feeling as if he might have caught his big break.

"Do I ever," Ron said with a goofy smile on his face. "I must have asked her out about a dozen times, but she hasn't agreed yet. She's crazy smart at chemistry. She knows like all of the poisons Snape brings up, and all the horrible things that happen if you take them. I got a glimpse of her notebook one time, but it was all gibberish to me...like methanol and ethanol and all that."

Harry had been on the edge of his seat the whole time that Ron was waxing lyrical about the girl that the detective had been trying to figure out for months at this point. She'd been right under his nose the whole time, and Ron was only corroborating everything he already suspected. That was until he mentioned ethanol. "Ethanol? Ron, do you mean like alcohol? Ethyl alcohol?" he asked, all of the puzzle pieces snapping into place in his mind.

Ron pressed his face into his hands. "How could I have missed that. Yes, _exactly_ like alcohol." Suddenly, Ron realized that he completely misjudged Hermione Granger. He couldn't believe he'd tried to impress her with wine, when she knew way more about alcohol than he clearly did. Not to mention if she was keeping the company of gangsters the likes of Tom Riddle...he didn't think _anyone_ in his class had a chance with her.

"Brilliant Ron," Harry said with a bright grin, before pulling a few dollars and leaving them on the table for Hannah. "Sorry, but I have to go into the office - there is a lot to do!"

* * *

Hermione had asked for three weeks off from Mr. Ollivander's shop, feigning the need to study for her final examinations. The old man was so accommodating of her, encouraging her to take as much time as she needed, that she almost felt terrible for lying to him. At the same time, it made her wonder what her endgame would be. She had a lot more opportunity now that she could aspire to more than _just_ being a shop girl.

Abraxas had helped her secure a job at the jewelry store. She got the impression that the other girls that worked there didn't particularly like her, but she was hoping to just blend into the background, avoiding standing out. She didn't want her name to come up to the police after the robbery took place.

She worked there for a while, scribbling furious notes in her leather bound journal, hoping to bring back anything that might help Tom achieve his aims. It was sometimes difficult that his aim was to rob a jewelry store. She knew it was _wrong_ no matter what, but she tried to rationalize it by reminding herself that he was only taking the bribe money that the police had banked there. If they hadn't accepted the bribes in the first place, there would be nothing for Tom to steel.

Her first day, she tried to figure out as much information about the safe as possible to give Antonin a leg up on creating a way to crack it. It was much larger than what she was expecting, and a dull tan, but the jeweler didn't like her lingering around it, so she wasn't able to get him much more than the manufacturer's name on the front of it. "Don't worry about it, princess. Worse case scenario, we can shoot the locking mechanism to get into it." Antonin had assured her with a grin.

Regulus didn't give her a heads up when he was going to be stopping in. She had been wiping down the glass containers that held thousands of dollars in immaculate jewelry. There would be no questions if this shop had lots of money on sight.

A gasp from another one of the girls was the only indication that someone interesting had come in. When she looked up, she immediately noticed Regulus Black. They hadn't had much time to speak to one another so far, but they got along well enough. It was nice to have someone closer to her age to talk with now and again, though she got the impression that he was far too flirty for Tom's (and Antonin's, for that matter) tastes.

Her coconspirator practically oozed wealth, with his perfectly tailor suit. He looked around the room, making a show of sizing up all of the sales girls, before zeroing in on her. He crossed the room to where she was standing, before plastering a perfect smile on his face. "Excuse me, Miss, I was wondering if you could help me pick out a necklace for my mother's birthday."

She tried not to laugh being the focus of all of Regulus's flirtatious energy, as she could already feel the heated stares of her coworkers, annoyed at not being selected to help such a handsome - and wealthy - customer. "Of course, is there any kind of gem that she is particularly drawn to?"

"She's always been fond of emeralds," Regulus replied with a smirk. "Her birthday is in May, you see."

"Very classic," Hermione complemented. "You are such a thoughtful son, already worrying about birthday presents when it isn't even Christmas yet." she grinned up at him, wondering if Regulus's mother actually would ever receive the massive emerald necklace. She showed him a couple of emeralds that they had out on the floor, listening to his questions and answering what she could. At the same time, she knew that this was one of the few opportunities anyone besides her would be able to see the security of the building.

"You know," Hermione offered, offhand, "I think that I might have the _perfect_ gem for you. It's in the back, if you don't mind waiting her for a few minutes while a retreive it?"

Regulus assured her it was fine, and made an exaggerated show of watching her walk away. She knew, however, that his eyes were not on her form accentuated by a black dress, but rather the stern looking jeweler who sat in the back. Still, he was so very convincing that Hermione didn't think anyone would be any the wiser about his true intentions.

He oohed and aahed over the emerald she returned with, before agreeing to have it set in white gold. Hermione collected his hefty deposit, almost feeling a bit bad that he was having to put up personal money all for a ruse, before she remembered that his cut of the bribe money would _more_ than cover one emerald necklace. With his deposit received, Regulus agreed on a date to pick up his necklace in a few weeks' time, at which point, Hermione would be long gone.

After he'd left the tiny little shop, the rest of the shop girls swarmed around her, chattering about how handsome he was. "Didn't you recognize him, Hermione? Oh, I just don't know how you were able to talk to him at all. I would have been shaking like a leaf!" one of the nicer girls said with a sigh.

"Regulus Black?" Hermione asked, making a big show of reviewing the ticket. "I guess...I'm sorry, I'm just not familiar with the name." She said with a shrug before returning to her duties, leaving the rest of the girls to natter on about how uncultured and simple she must be to not recognize _the_ Regulus Black, never realizing that she was planning an armed robbery right under their noses.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions. I will be posting the final chapter of Black Dog tomorrow, which is a spooky Halloween story, and a Tomione oneshot in honor of Halloween, so definitely check those out if you are looking for a bit of spooky fun!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter sixteen and be on the lookout for chapter seventeen soon!

* * *

After consulting with Regulus, the group had decided that they would have to strike the jewelry store during the day. Tom would have preferred to go in at night, when there were less variables and less opportunities for things to go wrong, but the massive bars across the doors and windows made breaking in in a timely fashion nearly impossible. Not to mention the fact that the tools they would need to break through the bars would be far too loud to go unnoticed.

Instead, they had decided that they would go during the week. Tom didn't want to give her any details because she would likely be questioned by the police after they had left, but she did know a few facts. Rabastan, Antonin, Rosier and Tom would be doing the actual robbing whilst Abraxas would be waiting around the block in their getaway car. Still, she had no idea when it was actually going to happen, just that it would be sometime that week.

Pulling her into his lap, where he was reviewing the books with Antonin, Tom had wrapped an arm around her middle, holding her to him. "You might want to dress up this week at work, darling," he'd encouraged her indulgently. "You never know when the newspaper will want to take your picture."

She'd flushed under his rather physical display of affection in front of Antonin. They still hadn't talked about what their relationship was specifically, but Hermione was increasingly under the impression that it was steady and quite serious. Despite no official label, none of the other members of the crew batted an eyelash when he would send a heated look her way and no one tried to make passes at her any more.

Hermione was completely unprepared for the day of the robbery, but she was wearing her most flattering dress. It was slightly after her lunch break when Rabastan entered the shop first, and engaged one of the other girls in conversation about a pair of diamond earrings he wanted cleaned. Rosier entered a few minutes after, giving the only other shop girl besides her a flirtatious grin and started asking her what kind of necklace _she_ would want.

She kept her cool, not wanting to give a hint that she recognized either of them, and instead, focused on returning some rings to their correct displays. Hearing the bell ring a third time, Hermione looked up, hoping to remain nonchalant when she realized it was just Tom and Antonin. Plastering a smile on her face, she addressed them. "Good afternoon gentlemen. Can I help you with anything?"

The brunette was certainly not prepared for Tom to pull a gun out from his waistband, pointing it at her. "Yes, you can. This is a robbery. Now come out from behind the counter."

Hermione could feel her heart beating wildly against her chest. Even though she trusted Tom implicitly and knew that he would _never_ actually shoot her, it was still an entirely unnerving situation to be staring down the barrel of a gun. She held up her hands before stepping around the counter in surrender, looking around the shop. She saw that Antonin, Rab and Evan had similarly drawn their own weapons.

Once she was in his grasp, Tom wrapped an arm around her waist and walked forward, pushing her towards the back of the shop where the safe was, Antonin not far behind. The shopkeeper greeted them with a shotgun pointed at her astonished face, and it was the first time Hermione realized that things might not go as smoothly as she'd hoped.

Tom pressed the gun against her head, cocking it back. She closed her eyes, hoping beyond hope that everything stayed level. "Put the gun down or she gets it."

"What do I care about her for?" The shop owner responded, making Hermione gasp. Her eyes flew open as she stared at the other man, betrayal in her eyes. How could he think so callously about her, she wondered. "I can get another shop girl any day of the week." The feisty brunette found herself wishing she could rip the man's moustache off. She made an effort to struggle out of Tom's grasp, but mostly knowing that the safest place she could be at that moment was in his arms.

Her boss sighed in obvious annoyance, before pointing the gun at the store owner, instead of Hermione's temple. "In that case, why don't I make the odds more significant for you. Put down the gun or _you_ get it," his tone was almost bored, but based on the tense feel of his muscles, Hermione could tell that he was on edge.

The owner's hands trembled as he kept the shotgun trained on Tom's body, and a bit of sweat broke out on his forehead while he ran through his options. For a moment, Hermione thought that he might actually shoot Tom, but before he got the chance, a shot rang out, and blood immediately began to seep through the fabric in the shop keeper's shirt from a large wound in his left shoulder. It was just a few inches away from his heart, and rather than being a miss, Hermione knew that Tom had placed it _exactly_ where he wanted. The man let out a terrible scream, only to fall to the ground, his shotgun still clutched in his arms.

Stepping aside, Tom let Antonin by to get to the safe. The Russian immediately set about fiddling with the combination lock, his ear pressed against the safe to hear the mechanisms inside, though it was clear that he was annoyed by the screaming from both the owner and the other two girls in the man floor.

It took several tense minutes in Tom's arms, but eventually Antonin had gotten the safe open. Tom pressed a bag into her hand and instructed her to hold it open, while Antonin was pulling stacks and stacks of bills out of it, throwing it into the bag. It was quite heavy and Hermione was shocked by just how big of a haul this was actually going to be, and to know that she got a cut of it. Maybe she should take a vacation like Tom suggested, once this was all over.

With the safe empty of all of the fruits of Tom's bribery over the years, her boss happily took the bag back from Hermione's arms, giving her a grin. "Wish I had room to steal you too, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave you behind," he teased, knowing that Hermione would see him later in the evening. "If I were you, I'd think about getting a new job - with a boss who actually cares about my wellbeing," he said with a final kick to the side of the shopkeep, who lay bleeding on the ground.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was meant to give her an out to quit her job later, but she couldn't deny that she relished a bit in the man's groan. Even if he was mostly innocent in this situation, she couldn't forget the fact that he would have let her be killed just because. It didn't sit well with her.

Then, just as quickly as they entered the jewelry store, the four men left, the bell on the door signalling their exit. Still shaking with adrenaline and nerves, Hermione fell to her knees, before calling to the other girls to run and get the police and an ambulance.

* * *

After she was released from being questioned by police officers, Hermione went immediately to the warehouse. Tom wrapped her up in his arms, this time much more overtly lovingly, before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, nipping at her lower lip. "You were brilliant," he praised her, "Did the police give you any trouble?"

Hermione shook her head, giving him a shy smile. "The barely even had any questions for me - most of them seemed quite annoyed to learn _where_ the robbery was," she revealed. It served them right, Hermione thought, seeing as they had all accepted dirty money in the first place, that it should be taken away from them. In any case, Tom had sent a message, and Hermione was sure that the police heard it loud and clear.

"Come on, we're going to a jazz club to celebrate," Tom said, pressing his arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her into his side. "I will drive you home at the end of the night, promise."

Nodding her head, Hermione agreed, following Tom into the other room where the others waited, including Rodolphus and Bellatrix, and Regulus. After dividing up who was going in which car, Hermione found herself hugged up against Tom's side with Antonin in the seat next to her, and Bellatrix and Rodolphus in the back seat.

They drove all the way across the city, until they were in Hermione's neighborhood. After finding a place to park, it was hard not to get swept up in the hustle and bustle of Bourbon street, but they eventually found themselves at a nondescript door, before being granted entry down the stairs to a lively club.

The music was raucous and quite good. It was hard not to sway along with the music, especially after Hermione had taken a generous swig of the whiskey from the flask that Tom had brought in, seeing as the club "served swill" in his opinion. She felt a bit of her pride swell with the knowledge that her product was so superior.

People were dancing all around them, but no one from their table got up, too eager to sit around laughing about their recent success. Antonin was quite complimentary in her part, eager to hear about the questions the police had asked her. "It was some big guy called Shacklebolt," Hermione explained. "He didn't seem too interested in what I had to say...probably didn't think I was important since I was just a shopgirl," she told him with a roll of her eyes.

Tom had settled his large hand on her knee and Hermione longed to slip away into some hidden corner with him to feel his hands on other parts of her body. She was haunted by the memory of his kisses, or his touch. Now that they were in a relationship, she couldn't wait to take things a bit further with him.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't notice someone coming to approach their table until he was standing next to her and calling her name. "Hermione, what on Earth are you doing here?" her blond neighbor asked, utter shock on his face.

"Neville!" she exclaimed, her cheeks turning bright red as all the attention was focused on them. "I was just out with some friends. Do you work here?" she questioned, gesturing to the trumpet secured under his arm.

"Friends?" he asked dumbly, his eyes wandering from one man to the next. Finally, he squared his shoulders. "May I speak with you in private for a moment?"

Tom's hand tightened on her leg, but she stood up anyway, wanting to have this conversation away from prying eyes if she was forced to have it. Giving him a look, Hermione stood and walked with Neville a few paces away. "What is it Neville?" she asked crossly, her arms over her chest guarding herself.

"Tom Riddle? Abraxas Malfoy? Hermione, those people are _not_ your friends," Neville insisted, running his free hand through his short cropped hair. "They are bad men, tangled up in bad business. Just trust me, this isn't you."

"I'm not a child, Neville," Hermione insisted. "I can decide who my own friends are, and they are my friends. Besides, you are just my neighbor - you hardly even know me." She knew it was a bit of a low blow to tell him that, considering how much the pair of them had looked out for one another before she had gotten mixed up with Tom Riddle's gang.

"Hermione, you aren't like them," he tried one more time, his cheeks turning a bit pink, in embarrassment or anger she wasn't entirely sure. "You are a good girl. I know it."

She swallowed thickly, thinking on his words. Of course, she'd always considered herself to be a good girl, a diligent rule follower who didn't steal or cheat. Everything she thought she knew about herself had been turned on it's head since she met Tom, but she liked it. She liked feeling powerful and appreciated - the way that Tom made her feel.

Huffing, she took a step back from him. "Thank you for the glowing assessment, Neville. If you don't mind me, I think that I am going to head back to my table." She didn't wait for him to formulate a response to her cruel dismissal, as she really didn't want to think on his words any more that night.

Bellatrix gave her a mean little smirk when she returned. "Who was that? Your nanny?" Her questions were followed by a peel of laughter that no one else joined in on.

Ignoring the black haired woman, Hermione turned to face Tom. "I'm not having much fun here anymore. Can you take me home?" she gave him an indulgent grin that she was sure to regret the next day. She could only imagine what all the other men would think of her for propositioning him so boldly, but she enjoyed the horrified look on Bellatrix's face when Tom agreed, standing from the table and telling the others to get their own rides home.

The drive home passed by in a blur, as did the flight up the stairs. Tom was happy to follow her into her studio, having been completely unable to keep his hands off of her the whole evening. Once they were alone, he happily spun her towards him, slanting his mouth over her's, delighting at her opening up to him.

He dominated her with his kiss, his tongue pressing against hers in a slow, sensual dance that he led. One hand tangled in her hair, holding her exactly how he wanted her while the other worked to loose the buttons on the back of her dress, revealing the pale flesh that lie hidden underneath.

Feeling himself harden, he watched as the velvet material fell down her shoulders and she boldly did nothing to stop its progress, until it reached her waist. She looked adorable with her cheeks pink in nervousness, but he was quickly distracted by the sight of her brasserie, and he pressed forward, wanting to touch her.

From the first touch of his hand, cupping her breast, she was practically purring in his arms, her lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck. With a smirk, he pressed her back towards her bed.

* * *

Tom left Hermione's apartment early the next morning, waking her just long enough to give her a kiss. The previous night had been a big step in their relationship, but he didn't want to push her too fast, knowing that with a woman like her, he would have to tread delicately. Still, he'd touched every inch of her that he dared the night before, letting her explore him just the same, though neither one of them straying below the waist.

It had been torture waiting for her to fall asleep so that he could slip off to her bathroom and relieve himself.

Still, he was cultivating her, and he knew it would take time. If done properly, he would have the sweetest fruit in the end. You would have to be stupid to not see what a prize that Hermione was, and he was determined to keep her. Pushing her into a situation she wasn't ready for wasn't the way to do that.

He'd only gotten a block or two away from Hermione's apartment - nearly to the street where he'd parked his car - when he heard someone shouting out his name. "Tom Riddle! Stop where you are!"

Annoyed and unused to complying with shouted commands, Tom turned around, wondering just who would be stupid enough to yell for him in that manner. He was surprised to see a police officer, who barely looked to be out of school. Slipping a calm smile onto his face, he tried to suss out what the issue was. "I've stopped. Now what is it that I can help you with?"

Swallowing, perhaps realizing that he was a bit out of his league, the young police officer gathered his courage. "You have a warrant out for your arrest. I have to arrest you and bring you into police headquarters," he explained, staring at the gun that rested on Tom's hip, praying that he wasn't going to end up dead.

Internally cursing, Tom wondered just what kind of bullshit Dumbledore had cooked up now. "May I ask what the charges are?" he asked, keeping his voice level and even, when he wanted to do nothing more than grab the police officer and demand to know what the hell was going on.

"Um, robbery - robbery of a jewelry store on Canal Street." The younger man responded, the nerves obviously shaking in his voice.

"There was a robbery?" Tom questioned, his face the picture of innocence. "I hadn't seen anything about that in the paper." Of course, there would be nothing about it in the paper, just like nothing would ever come of these charges, because for that to happen, it would mean something would have to have been stolen. And there was no way in hell that any of New Orleans finest would come forward, admitting that they had taken bribe money and that Tom Riddle had stolen it.

"Well, I suppose if you must arrest me, you must. But, you are making a terrible mistake," Tom said, his polite mask finally falling, glaring at the younger man. He turned around, letting him place handcuffs around his wrists. Yes, he would go quietly for now, but only because he knew that he would be walking out of the police station before the day was over.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! Thank you so much for the well wishes as well - you guys are just so awesome. Sorry this chapter is a little later than I would have liked it, but I was still getting sorted after the honeymoon. Still, I think that this chapter might have a little extra fun to make up for it? You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter seventeen and be on the lookout for chapter eighteen soon!

* * *

It took a little bit longer than Tom expected to get out of jail. He never actually expected that he would be held overnight in a tiny little jail cell. At least everyone else who was being held with him knew well enough who he was, enough to keep him from being bothered.

Detective Potter had come to gloat, saying that the judge was full up for the day and that he would have to wait until first thing in the morning. Tom had decided to gloat, remarking on Potter's brand new scar that was still looking quite scabby. The detective had pushed his messy, black hair back down over his forehead before leaving the room.

When he finally did see the magistrate, feeling rather annoyed that his usually impeccably tailored clothing looked rumpled and worn in twice over, it was clear that the man was more than a little irked at having charges being presented when the prosecution had such thin evidence. Tom had felt more than comfortable representing himself _pro se_ , objecting to all of the character evidence that they were trying to stack against him, when they had no actual proof, and their witnesses didn't show.

He kept his ears open, though, through each and every bit of gleaned information that the state had managed to finagle. As the judge grew more and more frustrated, they had to reveal more and more of their case to him. He was disturbed to learn how accurate some of the details were. Blue eyes narrowing, Tom realized that they must have some kind of inside assistance. There was no way that they would have been able to piece that much of it together.

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of stalling on the part of the state, the judge finally dismissed the charges, though with the possibility of them being refiled once they had more (or any, really) usable evidence. The judge had been especially annoyed when the prosecutor couldn't detail _what_ had actually been stolen from the safe. Of course this is what Tom had been banking on - they couldn't report the money stolen without revealing the money's origins, and therefore, the indiscretions of the police. Tom hadn't been able to resist smirking at Detective Potter while he walked out of the courthouse, handcuffs happily left behind.

His face fell as soon as he walked out into the sunlight, though, as this little debacle was making him realize some hard facts. The state had been overconfident and tipped their hand too early, and now he knew something was terribly wrong.

Antonin was waiting for him out front, his car idling. Once Tom got inside, he spoke the words he was dreading the whole time he'd been in custody. Taking one of Antonin's offered cigarette's, Tom kept his eyes straight ahead. "Someone has been talking to the police," he said simply, his face hard. Lighting the cigarette, he took a drag and tried to calm down.

His friend made a little choking sound next to him. "You can't possibly think that it was Hermione?" Antonin questioned. "I know that she is a bit soft, but I know, I _know_ , Tom, that she isn't capable of something like this."

Tom took stock of his oldest friend's white knuckles on the steering wheel. "You care for her," he said simply, before turning to look at the scenery passing by. "No, I know it's not Hermione. She can be self-righteous, but she has her own code. This wouldn't be the way that she would hurt me."

Antonin relaxed once he was assured that Tom wasn't planning on hurting Hermione. It was strange, in the few months that he'd known her, taken her in like a stray little kitten, he hadn't realized just how protective of her he'd grown. "So, who is it then?"

Tom sneered, before turning to look at the other man. "I think we both know who it is." There had been only one person, after all, who'd frequently expressed his displeasure, his dissent over the past months. Tom wasn't blind. He knew that Rosier felt as if his place was slipping and if he was honest, he should have known that it was only a matter of time before prissy little Evan Rosier squealed to the police.

"Rosier," Antonin said grimly, keeping his face on the road. "What are you going to do about it?"

Running a hand through his hair, trying to get it to behave once again after two nights on unfamiliar beds, Tom sighed. "You know what has to happen, Tony. I can't let the others think that they can get away with talking to the police." Another drag had him feeling a bit more calm, but he supposed it could also just be that he was determined on what he had to do. "We will give him a few days...so he gets a bit comfortable and thinks that he got away with it." Tom smirked cruelly, always enjoying toying with people a bit first.

Antonin knew that once Tom had made his mind up about something, there was no changing it. "Well, I hope that whatever they promised him was worth it."

* * *

Hermione sat in Tom's office at the warehouse, her foot tapping on the floor in a disorganized rhythm. She tried to keep her mind focused, but all she could conjure up at the moment were all the terrible ways that he could be hurt. She bit at the corner of her thumb nail, before standing up to peek out of the window again, only to see no sign of Antonin _or_ Tom.

After the wonderful night that they'd shared together, Hermione had been disappointed to say goodbye to him in the morning. She was glad that he hadn't just tried to slip away like he'd done once before, and she'd been so excited when he'd promised he'd see her at the warehouse later that day. The thought of Tom had her floating through all of her classes, so much so that Professor Snape had even scolded her once for daydreaming.

But then, he hadn't showed up at the warehouse all afternoon, until finally Antonin was telling her to go away. Her friend hadn't known where their boss was either, but he'd given her a ride home and promised that he would get to the bottom of it. The next morning, there was still no sign of him, but Antonin had pressed a kiss to her forehead and told her he was handling it.

That had been three hours ago, and Hermione was beginning to think that she might go crazy if she didn't get to speak to Tom _right_ that moment.

As if the gods had heard her demands, in the next second, Tom and Antonin were walking through the doors to the office. Hermione took note of him and saw that he was wearing the same clothes as when he'd left her the day before. She felt anger well up in her.

Tom smiled at her - that charming, _sinful_ smile of his - but it only made her angrier. Pushing her hands against her chest, she let all of her nerves bubble up and over. "Where have you _been_?" she seethed, making her lover's good natured face drop.

"Antonin, please leave Hermione and I alone for a while." He said sternly, his face not betraying any emotion. It was in that moment that Hermione wondered if perhaps she'd made a terribly mistake bossing Tom around in front of one of his men. Tom shut the door behind Antonin, before moving to slowly shut the curtain that covered the window that looked out onto the floor.

Hermione gulped wondering what she could say to diffuse the situation, if she should apologize, but instead she just faltered, watching as Tom sank into one of the chairs at the table. His hand darted out and pulled her to him, until she was standing between his legs.

"I was arrested after I left your place," Tom explained, making her gasp. In all of her wildest thoughts, that had never once entered into the equation. "It seems like we might have made the police a bit angrier than I anticipated. But don't worry, darling, I'm going to sort it," he told her with promise in his eyes.

She felt bad for him, and pressed one hand into his shoulder while the other smoothed an errant curl on his head. "Oh Tommy," she whispered, thinking of how hard it must have been for him. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his face into her body, nestled against her breasts. Pulling him back, after a moment, she tilted her head down, cradling his head so that she could kiss him softly, wanting to take away all of his worry and discomfort.

It wasn't long before Tom was taking the kiss deeper, his tongue tangling against her's with purpose, before pulling back. He sucked her lower lip between his, teeth nibbling before soothing the sting with his tongue. Hermione quickly found herself throbbing, and knowing that she wanted _more_ , but what that meant, she wasn't entirely sure.

Tom, though, seemed to know _exactly_ what she wanted. His hands, sure and firm, moved up the back of her legs, taking her skirt with them, coming to cup her bottom. He pulled her to sit precariously on one of his legs, his face pressing into her shoulder, his hot breath sending pleasurable shivers up her spine.

Hermione knew that she should be horribly embarrassed with so much of her legs exposed, his hands moving purposefully from towards the tops of her thighs. She watched helpless as his fingers traced over the bare skin at the tops of her stockings, entranced and eager for more. As he moved higher, her breath caught in her throat and she wasn't sure what to do, but she knew she wanted more. She turned her face to look at him, his blue eyes swirling with undisguised lust, and let her legs part a bit wider, giving him access.

He distracted her with another hot kiss, making her brain go a bit fuzzy from the feeling. She wished that she could stay here for all of eternity. His hand found her's on his shoulder, before pressing it down to the hardness between his own legs.

Hermione gasped into him at the feel of it, having never touched him there before, and feeling a bit out of focus as she didn't entirely know _what_ to do. But, she was always an apt pupil, and with a bit of guidance from Tom, she was soon drawing gravely moans from him as well. Feeling a bit bolder, Hermione fiddled with the front of his trousers, wanting nothing between the two of them. _She_ nipped his lower lip, as he was so fond to do to her, when she finally reached her goal, feeling triumphant.

Not to be outdone, Tom's hands had returned to their initial destination as well, finally slipping under the silky material of her panties. Hermione was shocked at how easily his fingertip glided against her sex, aided by the wetness that she'd felt earlier. It took him a few tentative touches before he found a spot on her that seemed to send stars shooting behind her clenched eyelids.

She couldn't focus on anything else but Tom in that moment. He guided her through deep kisses while he circled against that spot again and _again_ , seeming to delight as much as she did in her enthusiastic reactions to it. Vaguely, she tried to focus on not completely stopping her own ministrations to his member, thinking in the back of her head that it would be rather rude; Tom seemed to appreciate it, based on the way that his hips were rocking back and forth into her hand.

It could have lasted a minute or perhaps an hour, but before she knew it, Hermione was _close_. Whining in the back of her throat, she pulled away from Tom's lips, just wanted to savor the brilliant moment, until she was finally crashing over the edge, pleasure radiating out from her core to every corner of her body - from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes.

Hermione took a moment then, savoring the feelings until she finally felt as if she'd come back into her body. Tom had one arm around her waist, holding her to him, and he was breathing just as heavily as she was. With a blush, she realized that her own hand was covered in the evidence that he'd enjoyed himself just as equally as she had. She bit her lip and kept her eyes focused on the floor.

Tom gave her a serene smile - perhaps the most _honest_ one he'd ever given her - before pulling his pocket square out of his jacket. Unfolding the fabric, he caught her hand in his, using it to clean her hand. While still feeling terribly embarrassed, Hermione couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips when he pressed an affectionate kiss to her check.

Brushing a curl out of her face, Tom cupped her jaw so that she would turn and face him. A more heated kiss on the lips followed the second one. "I'm sorry that I worried you. Know that I would never knowingly do that to you," he promised, truth in his blue eyes.

Hermione nodded, her earlier anger completely evaporated by the passionate encounter that they'd just shared. Her body still hummed in delight and if Tom wasn't going to be embarrassed by how desperate for one another they'd been - that they hadn't even cared if the others would hear them - then she wouldn't be either. Holding her head a bit higher, she nodded in understanding. "I...I care about you, _so much_ , Tom," she revealed, hoping that her meaning was read loud and clear.

Based on the pleased smirk he gave her, she was sure that it was.

* * *

After Tom had sent Hermione home on wobbly legs, eager for promises of things to come in the future, he brought the relevant people into his office for a discussion on the rat in their midst. He was glad that Evan was away, doing who fucking knows what for the afternoon.

All four of the men seemed to agree that he was the only possible snitch and while it was regrettable, something had to be done about him. Not only was Tom keen to set a precedent so the others would know what would happen if you tried to cross him, they also agreed that he knew too much. Rosier was too dangerous to keep around as a loose end. Tom found it a bit ironic actually that Evan was always the one who said that Hermione was going to flip and give their secrets to the police, when it was actually _him_ who had taken that course of action. Perhaps he was projecting his own thoughts all along.

Later, when the other's left him alone to stew, whiskey glass in one hand and cigarette in the other, Tom considered all the things that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. All the spoils of their impressive robbery where currently stacked around the office waiting for counting. He was actually quite impressed with just how much he'd been paying off the police through the years, and was mostly disappointed how worthless it had all been. Well, at least he'd gotten it back.

He was unsurprised that the police had immediately tried to get back at him, but he knew that they hadn't received his intended message. He'd wanted to remind them of all that he'd given them and how he could take it all away.

Before he'd grabbed hold of control in New Orleans several years before, things had been a bit lawless and the police were ineffective at best. But he'd reined all of that in by sheer will and a bit of violence. They'd learned to coexist together, him and the law enforcement of the City. He kept petty criminals from fucking things up too much, gave them a cut, and then they would look the other way when he took care of his business.

But, it they didn't want his help - as they'd so clearly shown him, by practically spitting in his face - he would just need to remind them of what their precious city could go back to. Not even _Dumbledore_ would be able to get a handle on the City when he was done with it. A sly grin spread across his face at the thought of telling Fenrir he could take his muzzle off. That man was a sadist of the highest degree and Tom could just imagine the havoc the large man would make if given half a chance. New Orleans could have a little serial killer problem if he gave the rougaroux the green light.

And maybe it was good for him to strike fear in the hearts of all of the citizens of the city. After all, they were completely clueless to the kinds of things that their _own_ police department got up to. He could only imagine the outrage if he could publish the total amount of bribe money he'd collected in the paper.

A plan was forming in his mind, slowly but surely. It would be rash to unleash Fenrir onto the unsuspecting citizenry without first giving them the chance to choose a side. If he just exposed how worthless and incompetent the police were, maybe he could create a bit of a coup. Maybe the whole Dumbledore situation would sort itself out.

Yes, he just needed to hit the people of New Orleans where it hurt. Money had been an _incredible_ motivator in the their heist of the jewelry store, so he saw no reason for it not to work again. Only this time, he would be taking money from the _good_ hardworking people of the city, and their legal banks. It had been far too long since he'd really planned such an exciting and masterful crime.

He was going to rob a bank.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! It means so much to me that you all are enjoying this story - I wasn't sure if there would be much desire for it when I expanded the original oneshot. I don't know if I've updated you recently, but I am pretty sure this will have 22 chapters in total - 21 chapters and an epilogue. So only four more to go! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter eighteen and be on the lookout for chapter nineteen soon!

* * *

"Just work on preparing the sodium bicarbonate, Granger," Justin Finch-Fletchley said in that typical snobbish way that all the boys in her class seemed to share. "I will handle all the heavy lifting." He reached under their lab station, pulling out the Bunsen burner and getting the flame going with some difficulty.

Hermione sighed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back at the other boy. For some unknown reason, no matter how many tests she aced or how long she remained at the top of the class - Professor Snape was only too eager for humiliation and posted a ranked list every week - she couldn't seem to garner any respect from her peers. Internally, she knew that it was just because she was a woman, and they didn't see her as a serious student, but knowing the reason why didn't make it any easier to digest.

She'd groaned internally when Professor Snape had announced to the class that for their lab they would be working with partners due to expensive chemicals being used in the process. He also insisted they work _carefully_ as he would not tolerate any waste due to the cost to the University. She'd groaned ever louder when he'd told her that she would be paired with Finch-Fletchley. He was one of the few students that was actually quite good at chemistry, but at the same time, that meant that he thought he knew much more than he did.

Seeing him still struggling to keep the flame lit despite repeated attempts, Hermione rolled her eyes before leaning over the station. "Here, let me help you with that," she said, not bothering to hide her condescending tone, spinning the valve that controlled the amount of natural gas to be let through, allowing the flame to catch easily, before closing the valve slightly to drop the flame to the correct preference.

"I would have gotten it," Finch-Fletchley said, a bit of pink appearing high on his cheeks at his embarrassment.

Hermione knew that she could say something snarky - something Tom or Antonin would throw back in the boy's face - but she really wanted to work _with_ her classmates. "This lab will involve cooperation and teamwork," she responded softly, hoping to ease any lingering discomfort. "It's alright if you need help."

The pompous boy sneered at her, before deciding that he was not going to be taking her olive branch. "As if I would need _your_ help." He turned back to the station, measuring out a portion of liquid for their experimentation.

Hermione felt her jaw snap shut, annoyed that he was just being so stubborn. He had _no idea_ who he was dealing with, what she was capable. She was single-handedly producing the finest whiskey New Orleans had ever seen, some that probably even graced _his_ bar cart. She'd been part of the biggest jewelry store heist, taking money right out from the noses of the police and no one had been the wiser.

Feeling her thoughts go a bit darker, Hermione remembered that she'd helped kill two people, too. It was as easy for her to do as batting an eyelash, her fingers sprinkling a hint of that dastardly poison, her words instructing how to slip it into morning coffee. How she would like to put a bit of poison into Finch-Fletchley's coffee...

Shaking her head clear, Hermione suddenly felt badly that she'd just thought such a horrid thought about her classmate. He was rude, _yes_ , but that didn't mean that she wanted to kill him. Nibbling on her lower lip, she wondered, briefly, if she'd been spending too much time with Tom. It was hard to think back, but before she knew him, she thought alcohol was a terrible thing and rightly prohibited.

She was still so irked by her lab partner's attitude, though, that she didn't bother correcting him when he mismeasured the nitric acid, even if it meant that their experiment would fail. It was petty, yes, and it was a bit like cutting off your nose to spite your face, but she _needed_ him to realize that he wasn't as good as he thought he was.

Not five minutes later, when their boiling mixture turned a bit like sludge, Professor Snape immediately swooped over to sneer at their efforts. "I do believe that I told you these chemicals were expensive and difficult to source, did I not?" Turning off their burner, Hermione wilted under her teacher's scorn. "Can either one of you tell me what went wrong?"

"Too much nitric acid, sir," Hermione told him immediately, leaving Justin flummoxed beside her.

"Hm, well, just because you've understood your error doesn't mean that you've escaped a failing grade today," Snape said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dispose of this mess properly. And your lab report had better include an emphasis on _following directions_ and the careful preparation of chemicals in the delicate and precise art of chemistry."

Hermione nodded, feeling a bit miserable to learn that she would receive a failing grade. At least she was still ahead of Finch-Fletchley though.

* * *

Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out the thin cigarette case, offering one to the man who sat next to him on the park bench. Regulus was only too happy to take one, knowing that they were likely in for another day of mediocrity, watching, observing the little armored car that came up to the bank to drop of money from legitimate businesses around the City.

Tom let his long legs stretch out in front of him, but he didn't take his blue eyes off of the bank across the street from him, his vantage point covered by the long, drooping branches of a willow tree. He knew that it was a bit excessive - they'd been here every day this week - but he wanted to make sure that their plan was going to go off without a hitch. It was considerably more difficult than anything he'd attempted in several years. He'd been keeping details to himself and Antonin, and had only just recently brought Regulus into the planning process.

Regulus had been selected partly for the keen eye for the particulars that he had, as evidenced by the great work that he'd done in the jewelry store heist. But, additionally, Tom found him to be relatively good company as well - not too prone to babble about nonsense like Abraxas tended towards, but still able to discuss most subjects intelligently.

"So," Regulus started slowly as he took a drag from his cigarette, obviously not entirely comfortable about broaching the topic on his mind. "Where did you find Hermione anyway?"

Tom couldn't stop the tiny smirk from forming on his face, finding it more than a bit funny, but not entirely surprising, that _Hermione_ was the subject Regulus needed to get off his chest. "I found her wasting her talents working as a shop girl at some little pharmacy," Tom revealed, feeling rather proud that he'd recognized Hermione's potential when others hadn't.

"Yeah, but...well, no offense or anything, but she's kind of...I don't know, a bit soft, isn't she?" Regulus asked, his eyes firmly down on the ground in front of him, perhaps not trusting himself to see Tom's reaction for what it was.

But, the mobster couldn't help but laugh. "Don't let _her_ hear you call her that," he instructed, knowing just how much the young woman would bristle at the idea. "And she's harder than you give her credit for. She's had a difficult life. Hermione is capable of much more than people can imagine - devious things. But that works out to her advantage. They underestimate her and she is pulling off all sorts of cons right under their noses. Even if she doesn't always see it as a con."

Regulus shifted to stare at the other man, perhaps because it was the most that Tom had ever spoken to him in one go, or perhaps because he saw the truth of what he was saying. In any case, he was feeling a bit bolder and was willing to press his boss a bit further on the topic at hand. "And, so then are you and Hermione...together, I take it?"

The relationship between Tom Riddle and the sweet little chemist was a bit of an unspoken rule in the organization. There were some like Bellatrix who were determined that nothing was going on, but to others like Abraxas it was a given. In any case, no one seemed to bat an eye when Hermione flirted with Tom at the stills when he'd help her pour the mash into the still, or when the pair retreated into his office and closed the door behind them.

Tom pursed his lips, pondering how to answer the pointed question, but he was saved from the awkwardness of discussing his love life with an underling when the armored car pulled up. "Look, the car has arrived. What time is it?" He asked, focused on the real reason they were out here.

"Just past one o'clock," Regulus responded, fiddling with the gold pocket watch that had clearly been a present from his rich father. "It's been consistent down to five minutes all week."

Pushing his hands through his wavy, dark hair, Tom nodded, pleased with how regular the normal driver seemed to be. That made their plans much easier. But, for the fifth time, he let his eyes wander over the armored car, and knew that that was going to be the variable. They had no chance of robbing the thing on site, and if there was no way that the driver would be cooperating, someone was going to have to drive the damn thing.

Luckily, Tom had just the man for the job, who was itching to get his hands on some real crime ever since he'd gotten out of jail, and who just happened to have a knack for stealing and driving cars. "I think it's time we brought Rabastan in on this," Tom said to his companion, pleased with how all the pieces were falling into place.

* * *

Hermione was working at the little desk, books and papers covering every inch of available surface, when she heard the knock at the door. Standing up from her seat, she looked out the terrace of her one bedroom flat in the French Quarter, she saw _his_ car waiting below on the street. A thrill of surprise rushed through her at the sight.

She rushed to the door, tying her dressing gown around her slim waist, throwing it open. Tom Riddle stood there, leaning against her door, looking devilishly casual, and completely out of place in her mess. "Tom. Come in, I'll make tea," she said a bit breathlessly, feeling terribly under dressed and wishing that she was wearing something a bit more elegant than her pajamas.

"I apologize, I wasn't expecting you today." She told him, gesturing to her room, stacked with books and papers and scraps of parchment with her neat handwriting scribbled on them. She was beginning to study for her first final exams since starting at Tulane. Even though she wasn't expecting him, she was glad to see her lover, especially after the moment they'd shared in his office.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Hermione, and I'm afraid this isn't a social call." He told her, taking her chipped teacup - the best cup she had - without a flinch. "I need your assistance with someone. You see, there is someone who has been making himself a bit of a ...nuisance, and I want to be sure that he is properly taken care of. I have a bit of a _rat infestation_ , you see," he smiled, before taking a small sip of tea, as though he hadn't just told her about his intent to murder someone.

Hermione sat down heavily on her worn out couch, crossing her ankles demurely, trying to hide her shock at his reminder of what had initially brought them together. "And you want my help?" she asked timidly thinking about what he needed.

"Yes, I was hoping you might be able to help me, as I recall it was a previous area of your expertise." Tom said, his blue eyes reading her face, teasing. "Normally, I would take care of it myself, but we don't want to cause any more questions. He's got his habits, so it won't be suspicious if he should just slip away in his sleep."

"Who is it?" She asked biting her bottom lip, her mind swirling with possibilities of just who Tom meant.

Tom gave her another disarming smile. "I think it's better if you don't know the answer to that question."

Hermione took a deep breath, thinking about what he was asking of her. He wanted her to poison someone. He wanted her to _murder_ someone. She didn't know too many people who would make Tom so upset that he would see to it personally, but she knew that things had been unraveling a bit ever since Chief Dumbledore had taken control. "It's not...Dumbledore, is it?"

His face darkened a bit, but he gave her a negative head shake. "It's _better_ if you don't know the answer to that question, Hermione. End of discussion," his voice had a harsh edge to it, and she was a bit surprised as he would normally not speak to her that way.

She waffled for a moment, remembering all the times that she'd told him she didn't want to be a part of murder ever again. That she didn't want to poison anyone, no matter the circumstances. She wondered just how she could even _consider_ agreeing to it. But then, she realized, she'd already agreed to whatever he wanted when she let him in the door. She would do anything he asked of her, because...because she was in love with him. This tall, dark stranger who'd walked into her life had completely shaken her, but she found that she _liked_ it. "I, yes, I can get something ready. I will bring it by the warehouse tomorrow."

"Excellent. I knew that I could count on you darling," he told her, a true grin on his face. He set his teacup down, before standing and heading towards the door. He pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before pressing his own forehead against her. "I meant what I said about taking you on holiday, Hermione. Once this all settles down, we will go somewhere fantastic, I promise."

Hermione gave him a soft, secret smile, wondering when her future vacation had come to include him as well. "Oh, Tom, I would love that," she whispered, her mind filled with scenes of sunny beaches and her and Tom in bathing costumes. Wouldn't it be lovely to have him all to herself, she thought with her heart skipping a beat. "That would be lovely."

* * *

Hermione had been so excited for a night out at the opera, but somehow in the turn of a few seconds everything had turned to shit. Tom had invited her to come along on a date to the very glamorous concert hall with Abraxas and Juniper. Hermione had happily agreed, even though a bit of her joy was removed when Bellatrix overheard and insisted that she come along, too. Rodolphus agreed that they should go, and the sixth of them determined that they would get a box.

Dressed in a slinky green dress that Juniper had helped to select, Hermione had been in awe of practically everything. She'd never been to anything even remotely like the opera, and was only too happy to have Tom's arm tight around her as the performance started. It was clear that Bellatrix was _very_ upset with the situation and shoved herself into the seat on his other side.

Hermione was pleased that Tom ignored the half dozen conversations the dark-haired woman tried to start with him, and let herself listen to the low rumble of his voice as he described the plot before the production began. Really, at this point she shouldn't be, but she was surprised to see just how worldly her lover was.

At the intermission, they got up to go locate some refreshments, which unfortunately did not include any champagne, but Tom had promised to bring some back to her flat after the performance for the two of them to share. It was at that time that they ran into someone who they did not expect to see - Evan Rosier walking across the lobby with a date. "Oh look," Hermione had remarked, "Evan is here. Should we say hello?"

Before any of them were able to react, Bellatrix was reaching into her purse and pulling out a small pistol. Hermione gasped, seeing it first, drawing the attention of more than just her companions. Everything had gone quite fuzzy for Hermione, all of the sounds of screaming women and men faded away, and she watched as Bellatrix took aim at Evan, and pull the trigger.

At the last possible second, Rodolphus was grabbing Bellatrix's arm upwards, sending the trajectory of the bullet up to one of the priceless crystal chandeliers, leaving it wobbling awkwardly. The sound of the shot sent even more panic through the crowd. Looking at Evan dumbly, Hermione saw that he was white as a ghost, before turning and leaving the concert hall, leaving his date behind.

Tom's face looked furious, and he grabbed Bellatrix, spinning her around to face him. "What the _fuck_ were you doing?" he questioned, shaking her back and forth before pressing her into the arms of her husband. "Nevermind what you were doing," he sneered when she tried to stammer out an answer, "get the fuck out of her. Rodolphus, I trust you know what to do?" Tom turned around, leaving the other woman flabbergasted

Still in shock, Hermione watched as Rodolphus pulled his wife away from the four of them. Tom was wrapping his arms around her then, pulling her to rest her head against his chest so that he could speak to her quietly. "Listen, we need to get out of here, Hermione. Do you think that you can walk?"

She nodded, even though her legs were so wobbly, she wasn't sure she could hold herself up. Still, with Tom's arms around her shoulders to guide her, they got out of their quickly, making the short walk out of the concert hall to where he'd parked his car. Tom sped off in the direction of her flat, holding one of her hands as long as he could.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! Haha, this one has a teeny bit of a cliffhanger as well, but I hope that you enjoy the chapter nonetheless. I will say this chapter could be a bit difficult, but please remember that they are living in the 1920s so things are not quite like today. For instance, stalking doesn't become a crime for over half a decade longer in the United States. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter nineteen and be on the lookout for chapter twenty soon!

* * *

Tom spent the entirety of the weekend holed up with Hermione in her flat, berating her on her absolutely dismal selection of groceries. She'd grinned at him, before questioning just what she might find if they were at his house instead. Somehow, she wasn't convinced that he did a great job of keeping himself fed either.

For Hermione, it was absolute domestic bliss to have him there with her, waking up to him two days in a row, sneaking kisses whenever she wanted to. The only hang up was that the whole reason they were having to stay tucked in was because the police _might_ be out looking for him. She tried to convince him that they were probably in the clear seeing as it was Bellatrix who'd done it and that Evan wasn't likely to have reported the incident to the police, and without a victim the police didn't have much recourse. Tom had been silent on that front.

"What do you think is going to happen to Bellatrix?" Hermione had questioned on Sunday afternoon, taking a break from studying to eat lunch (well, she called it _studying_ , but she was far too distracted by Tom's presence to focus, anyway).

It had been something that had plagued her mind ever since Bellatrix had pulled the gun from her purse. Hermione wasn't blind to the thought that it could have just as easily been _her_ that Bellatrix had taken aim at. It just didn't seem to make any sense _why_ the other woman would try to kill Evan. Further, Tom and Rodolphus had been absolutely furious at the event, so she was sure that the woman wouldn't get off without a bit of trouble from the pair.

Any mention of Bellatrix had Tom sneering. "Rodolphus will handle it," he's said the first time, before further prodding opened it up further. "A short stay in a mental hospital for certain. Perhaps he will blame the outburst on a miscarriage or some other feminine issue. Hysteria perhaps."

Hermione had to bite her lip at the idea that she would be locked up for _hysteria_ , such an old-fashioned and in her mind quite preposterous that Bellatrix's _womb_ might be making her act crazy. Still, she thought that the other woman could certainly benefit from a short stay with a psychiatrist, if she thought that killing someone out in public like that was advisable at all.

Him being at her apartment had also given Hermione the opportunity to give him the arsenic she'd pilfered from the chemistry department at Tulane, including some information of how much was required to be a lethal dose, depending on the size of the person it was meant to kill, since he still wouldn't tell her who it was for. She felt her stomach sink handing it over, knowing that she was directly contributing to a murder, when she promised herself it would never happen again.

Her love was quick to bring up her spirits, thought. It was in bed on the second night that Tom told her about his most recent plans. "Only a very select few know the details," he'd said, kissing her fingertips, lovingly, "so you should count yourself as part of a very exclusive club."

She had given him a very unladylike snort and a roll of her eyes, but still turned her body to face him, so that she could listen quite eagerly.

Tom explained the particulars of the bank robbery that was to take place in the following days. "It's going to be the biggest take this City has ever seen. I'm certain that they'll still be talking about it months later. And Dumbledore will regret the day he tried to get one over on me," his face was dark, with lingering hatred, before turning a bit flirtatious. "I must confess that I'd like to see you beside me, your own gun in hand, since I've seen your performance at the jewelry store."

Hermione felt her cheeks go a bit pink at the idea, but glad that Tom still saw her place as next to him. She was very happy with the way that their relationship had grown and changed over the years, but she sometimes worried that she was nothing more than a passing fancy to him. It was good to learn that he still envisioned a future with her at his side. "As...tempting as that sounds, I don't think that your crew would find me much help at all," she explained, trying to hide a smile.

"It might be a bit difficult to convince some of them," Tom agreed, thinking of Regulus. "But, we will still have a party to celebrate once it's done. You must come."

Hermione _did_ laugh at that. "Any excuse for a party. Unfortunately, this time I will have to pass. I have an exam to study for, and I don't think it would be very responsible to get drunk and dance about. The next one," she promised with a kiss to his lips.

* * *

Tom ran a hand across his face, wondering if it was possible for his week to go any worse than it already had. To start, Bellatrix had gotten it in her head that it was her job to off Rosier, when Tom had a perfectly good portion of arsenic that Hermione provided to do the job. It was worthless now - he was sure that Evan realized that something was up, and he hadn't shown his face at the warehouse since the incident.

Now, he could only imagine what the little rat would have told the police.

He'd thought that they'd kept enough distance between Evan and their plans, but now he was wondering if the man had been tipped off by some hapless individual. After all, he'd kept Rosier's fate to just a few close associates - not even telling the truth to Hermione, who would try to talk him out of it - so it was possible that they'd let the robbery slip.

Standing in front of the bank, a sawed off shotgun hidden under his long coat, Tom could come up with no other possibility that the details had been slipped to the police. He stared at the armed police escort that surrounded the truck that was bringing in all the money that fueled his dreams. How could he be anything but suspicious when the police only started providing this service on the day that he was going to strike?

Furious, Tom made eye contact with Regulus who was waiting at the end of the block. If given the correct signal, the other man was meant to run down the street, calling over Rabastan who would bring his stolen car around, cutting off the trunk and causing it to stop. Instead, he was forced to give Regulus the negative signal, knowing that Rabastan would be quite irritated not to see any action.

Keeping his head down, Tom turned the other direction, leaving before any of the officers recognized him. He knew that they would hesitate arresting him again, for some made up reason that would only serve to further irk the judge when they could come up with no probable cause to find him charged. Though, this time, he supposed his firearm was probably enough to add to his rap sheet.

His mood was dark while he thought over his next moves. He wondered if Dumbledore would be disappointed that he hadn't rushed headlong into the robbery, guns blazing, and easily enough action to send him away for a long time. Was it possible that the old man was so obtuse that he thought he would actually do that? Surely it was in the Police Chief's nature to overplay his hand thusly, but it would be naive to think that _the_ Tom Riddle would do the same. Obviously, he hadn't gotten where he was by being an idiot.

On the other hand, was it possible that Dumbledore was just trying to show off how much he knew? An overt show of force to demonstrate his own power in New Orleans? That would be just as much in character, Tom thought, remembering the way that the man's eyes always seemed to _twinkle_ with the hint that he knew more than he was letting on.

Either way, it meant that plans would need to be adjusted. Luckily, he had a wonderful little chemist that _had_ provided him with arsenic, and in a quantity that was sure to put the frail old man out of his hair. Of course, he would prefer to have Dumbledore _know_ that he had been bested, but Tom had grown tired of the games and just wanted things back the way they were before the older man had shoved his overly long, white beard into the mix.

Having decided on a plan of action, Tom felt a smirk creep across his face. He always felt better once he'd decided to murder someone. Thinking of the rest of his men, he quickly decided that their party would go on as planned. After all, they certainly had a lot to celebrate.

* * *

Hermione wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, but it seemed as if something had shifted in the way that Weasley regarded her. Instead of staring at her with his usual sense of entitled desire, he seemed to look at her now with a sense of wonder and awe. It made her increasingly uncomfortable as the days went on.

She was sick of looking up from her studies in the Chemistry library, only to find that freckle-faced annoyance staring at her, without a care in the world of being caught. Mostly, it was just unnerving not knowing exactly what had changed. Certainly it wasn't the fact that she was besting him in his chosen subject. At first she thought he might have figured out what her notes that he'd seen meant, but she brushed it aside knowing that he wasn't clever enough to work it out on his own.

No matter how many times she tried to tell him off, she found that she couldn't shake him. Nothing she said could seem to dissuade him from following her around campus. It wasn't until his behavior seemed to escalate that she decided something needed to be done.

It was a normal, albeit a bit chilly, winter day and all Hermione wanted to do was get back to her apartment and maybe get a muffaletta from the store around the block from her. It had been a long time since she'd indulged in something as simple as a fancy sandwich, but she thought it was the perfect little reward for her to have a break in studying.

What wasn't normal was the fact that Weasley had decided to follow her to the trolley stop. Seeing that he was still standing next to her once she got there, she rounded on him, sneer worthy of Tom himself on her face. "What do you think you are doing?" she questioned, past caring if she _offended_ him with her tone.

Seemingly startled at being called out, Hermione watched as Weasley's face turned a rather odd shade of puce, as he got more and more embarrassed. "Last I checked, it wasn't illegal to take the trolley," he said smartly.

Hermione knew this was true, and wished she had some kind of smart come back to throw back at him. Still, she knew that he wasn't just using the trolley because he needed to get somewhere - it was purely to follow her around. "That's true. Where are you headed then?" she questioned sharply. "Because if you are following me...I should warn you, it could end up being more dangerous than you anticipate."

She watched as he seemed to go a bit white at that, and she wondered if she was starting to get a reputation around the school. Had Weasley seen her talking to Fenrir Greyback and jumped to conclusions about the company she kept? Still, if it would get him off her back, she didn't care if he did think that she was friends with hitmen. Floundering for an answer, he finally came up with one. "Downtown."

The brunette couldn't stop her snort of derision at his unoriginal answer, and stepped onto the brightly colored trolley that finally appeared, selecting a seat next to another patron so that Weasley couldn't sit with her. Now that he was on the same line as her, there was no way that she was going to get off at her usual stop. She didn't want her classmate having _any_ idea of where she lived. Really, she could feel her adrenaline beginning to kick in at the thought of the possibilities of what Weasley might do.

Deciding to head to Ollivander's - the kindly man would certainly not mind if she showed up on her day off - Hermione could feel Weasley's greedy eyes on her as she walked in the direction of the pharmacy once she got off the streetcar, even though he remained seated.

Tamping down the temporary unease that raced through her veins, Hermione could admit that maybe it _was_ time to tell Tom about the problems she was having with the boys at Tulane.

* * *

Hermione hadn't planned on showing up at the party because she had said she was going to stay home and study for her semester finals. She'd told herself that she would take a nice, long break for the Christmas holidays, and maybe finally take Tom up on his offer of heading off to some Caribbean island. But as the hours ticked by on her clock, she found herself needing a break.

She knew that Tom didn't expect her to show up, but decided that she might like to surprise him for a change. After all, she'd heard about how his bank robbery had to be called off earlier in the week, and she thought that her presence might be welcome to cheer him up a little bit. She hoped that that didn't make her seem terribly conceited.

She'd purchased a new green dress for the occasion, knowing that he preferred the green color for some inexplicable reason. Hermione thought it quite reminded her of the color of arsenic paint and thought it was a bit fitting for their relationship, seeing as that was technically what had brought them together. The top was decorated with some delicate beading which she was sure Juniper would find a bit below her tastes, but Hermione loved the way it made her look.

Once she was ready, she took the trolley across town, making her way to the quiet little street that held the butcher shop which provided a clever front to the party. Knocking on the heavy metal door, she gave the password to the doorman who was guarding the party when the slot was opened.

Hurrying towards the bar, Hermione requested an old fashioned, finding that she quite liked the cocktail Tom had suggested for her. Drink in hand, she took a sip of the sweet mixture, before pressing her back against the cool wood, looking around the room. When her eyes settled on the dancefloor, she knew she'd made a mistake in coming to the party.

Miraculously, Hermione was able to hold onto her glass, but the sight that greeted her shocked her to the core. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her heart seemed to sink to her stomach. Swallowing thickly, she tried to push down a sob, while her eyes were trained on the twirling couple. Tom was on the dancefloor, pressed tightly against another woman with a mass of curly black hair. The way his face was pressed against her neck, she couldn't tell if he was kissing her or telling her secrets.

But there was no denying who was cozied up in his arms - Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Hello, Hermione. Tom said you wouldn't be able to make it to the party," Rodolphus Lestrange said, walking up to her, a lascivious grin on his face. His cheeks were flushed red, and Hermione could tell that he'd had quite a lot to drink.

Hermione could barely acknowledge the man she'd come to regard as a friend, instead focused on the handsome man on the dancefloor and the twisting jealousy in her stomach. "What is Tom doing dancing with Bellatrix like that?" she asked, hoping that her question wasn't totally transparent, hoping that he couldn't see that she was green with envy.

"Beats me," Rodolphus said with a shrug of his shoulders, apparently seeing nothing out of the ordinary with the interaction.

"But she's your wife!" Hermione gasped, rounding to face him. "Doesn't it bother you to have them so close?" Even if she closed her eyes, Hermione knew that the image of Tom's hand on Bellatrix's back would be burned into her memory.

Hearing her gasp of surprise, Rodolphus laughed. "Yes, she's my wife. But, I thought you'd have realized it by now, we have an open relationship. Very _open,_ " he told her, with a grin on his face, not in the least bit bothered by his wife's apparent infidelity. He didn't seem to worry about how those words would affect _her_ either.

Hermione couldn't bear to be at the party for a moment longer, and she slammed her drink, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. This time she was unable to stop the tears, feeling them slip down her rouged cheeks. "Sorry, Dolph, I could only stay for one drink. I should get home and start studying," her apology sounded hollow and false, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting away from the noise and the press of bodies and the heat and that dark-haired devil who had stolen her heart and crushed it at the first opportunity.

Rodolphus didn't try to stop her as she stormed past.

"Hermione?" Antonin, her lovely, lovely friend, however, did try to stop her. He seemed just as surprised as Rodolphus to see her. Rushing after her, Antonin followed her path up the stairs and away from the party, trying to get her attention at every moment. "Hermione, wait! If you are leaving, one of us should walk you back," he called after her retreating form.

Once she got to the top of the stairs, she turned to face him, wiping furiously at the tears still clinging to sooty lashes. "It's fine, Antonin. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself," she insisted, opening the door and resuming her flight away from Tom Riddle, but she didn't stop, even hearing his increasingly concerned shouts.

She couldn't stop.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! And being that it is Thanksgiving for us American folks, I just wanted to take a moment to say how thankful I am to all of the readers! I know there is that old adage...write what makes you happy; but, I have to admit that if it wasn't for all of the wonderful support that I got from you guys, I probably would have stopped writing a long time ago. So thank you from the bottom of my heart! You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter twenty and be on the lookout for chapter twenty-one soon!

* * *

Tom was furious when he saw Bellatrix walk into the party on the arm of her husband. He was beginning to think that Rodolphus might be the most spineless man that he'd ever met - apparently incapable of telling his wife anything or keeping her in line in any capacity. She was an embarrassment not only to the man and his family name, but to Tom's organization as well, and if Rodolphus thought that Tom was going to allow her to continue with her little fantasy that she any part in it, he was sorely mistaken.

On the other hand, Tom knew that their marriage was little more than a farce. He wasn't sure if the pair had ever loved each other, but he knew that Rodolphus was not secretive about the affairs he had. Looking at the man tonight, and noticing a hint of white powder on his moustache, Tom wondered if it might be time to tell him to cut back on his cocaine habit.

Deciding that it was time to let the extent of his displeasure be known, Tom was temporarily glad that Hermione had declined to come to the party that evening, knowing that he would be able to handle Bellatrix to his satisfaction without his lover's watchful eyes. This way, he was safe to lull Bellatrix into a trap, fooling her into opening up to him, only to drive his point home so much more viciously.

He struck once Rodolphus had sauntered off in the direction of the bar, immediately wrapping his arm around the first young woman he could find. Bellatrix stood, looking around the room imperiously as though she were a Queen surveying her kingdom. The thought of that sickened Tom, but he pushed down the feeling, watching as the woman brightened once her eyes found his.

Putting on a charming smile - something of an armor for him - Tom crossed the room until he was standing in front of her. "Good evening, Bellatrix," he greeted her, his eyes making a show of looking her up and down. "You look lovely," he complimented, though he found her current attire distasteful, perhaps more suited to a funeral. "Shall we dance?"

It nearly made him laugh how quickly a bit of flattery had Bellatrix off guard. He led her to the dance floor and kept his hands in respectful locations, annoyed at the way she pressed herself closer than necessary. Reminding himself that he needed to keep his cool, he swayed with her across the dancefloor. "I must say I am am surprised to see you here, Bella. I would have thought that you would be detained a bit longer."

"Oh, well, Rodolphus had me discharged today," Bellatrix told him. "He told them that I was a bit hysterical...the desire to have a baby. But I shouldn't bore you with womanly issues, Tommy."

He could feel his teeth grind at the nickname. "Of course. I must say, I am quite impressed Bellatrix. You certainly know how to play the system," he continued to pour on the flattery. "Not many of my associates would have had the guts to do what you did."

She blushed, which he found a bit funny, thinking the woman was past such girlish actions. "Well, when Roddy told me that Rosier had betrayed you, I knew that I needed to help you out," Bellatrix purred, pressing herself even closer to him. "There are certain things that I can help you with, that... _others_ cannot."

He knew that she was talking about Hermione, but he was also glad to learn that the cause of the breach of secrecy was from Rodolphus. Yes, he would certainly be having words with the other man. Deciding that now was the time to act, to let Bellatrix know his displeasure, he squeezed her hand hard enough to make her gasp in pain, but he didn't stop the swaying of his dancing. Dipping his head down to her ear, he whispered his threats. "You see Bellatrix, that's the problem. You've done _nothing_ but cause me problems. Hermione would never do something as _stupid_ as try to murder Rosier in a public place. Now, not only is he aware, but the public are as well. The worst of it is, you didn't even _kill_ the man. Bellatrix, you've given me nothing but a headache."

She gasped and tried to pull away so that she could look into his face, but he held her close. "Tom, I _never_ meant to cause any trouble for you, I only thought that I could take care of -"

"That's the problem, isn't it, Bellatrix?" He questioned savagely. "You _didn't_ think. Now, get out of my sight before I decide you should go for a little _swim_ in the river. I don't want to see you again," he taunted her, threatened to have her drowned, and pushed her away from him. He took one last look at her shocked face before turning away.

Before he could relax, though, he saw Antonin storming back down the stairs, his eyes a bit wild. Wondering if they were about to be raided - which would just be the cherry on his fucking cake for the week - Tom approached him. "Tony, what is it?"

"It's Hermione," Antonin told him.

Immediately, Tom could feel dread pool in his stomach. It was an unusual and new experience to care enough about someone other than himself to have a physical reaction to thinking they were being harmed. He knew that Potter had been a bit rough with her once before, he suspected that there were things she was keeping from him. Had the police gone too far. "What is it? The police?"

"No, she was here, but then she was leaving. I tried to stop her, to walk her back - she shouldn't be out alone walking dolled up like that - never know when someone gets too grabby - but she just told me she could handle herself and ran off before I could catch her," his friend explained, his words a jumble from his obvious distress.

The pieces clicked into place immediately for Tom. If Hermione had come here and seen him dancing with Bellatrix...well, he could only assume that she was jealous. Very, very jealous. He knew that he was a bad man for _enjoying_ learning just how jealous she was. But, still, he would need to set the record straight with her. "It's alright, Antonin. I think she might have been a bit surprised to see me dancing with Mrs. Lestrange. She can't have known I was berating the bitch. I will handle it in the morning." Yes, better to talk to her in the morning, once he had a clear head.

* * *

 _POLICE CHIEF MURDERED! POISON SUSPECTED_

No matter how many times she looked away, the newspaper headline was still there, mocking her, from its spot where she'd dropped it on her traveling trunk which served as a coffee table. Shaking, Hermione could feel dread settle in the pit of her stomach, wondering if it was possible that this could come back to her.

She wasn't sure what had made her more furious. The fact that Tom had played her with Bellatrix, dancing with the dark haired woman so closely the moment he thought that she was away, or the fact that he'd so blatantly lied to her about who the arsenic was for. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Dumbledore was the person who he'd wanted killed the moment he'd requested she'd get him some of the poison. He'd already hurt her, by using her feelings for him to get what he wanted from her, but lying directly to her face was taking it a step too far. She rubbed furiously at red-rimmed eyes, willing herself not to start crying again after a night of sobbing into her pillow.

She didn't understand what it was that made Tom so furious about the man. Of course, Albus Dumbledore was the new Chief of Police, and he had taken a hard line on criminals and was cracking down on police payoffs, which had obviously disrupted the way things were going for Tom. But, Dumbledore was just doing what any Police Chief should do. He hadn't done anything wrong - if anything, he was the only one in this _whole_ scenario who had done the right thing, to Hermione's dismay - and he didn't deserve to die. She couldn't believe that she had played god and just went along with what Tom wanted, disappointed that her own morals had crumbled so much.

Even more, she was furious with herself that she'd gone back on a promise that she'd made herself the moment Tom batted his eyelashes her way. She couldn't believe that she'd been so weak willed that a few kisses and stolen touches were enough to see her crumble and give into the criminal. Well, she was going to make a new promise to herself. She'd decide the moment that her eyes had landed on the newspaper headline that she would cease all contact with Tom and his associates, no matter how painful it would be. It was better in the long run.

Just as she was resolving not to go back to the warehouse another time, she heard a furious pounding on her door, the chain shaking in it's slot. "Hermione, open up, I need to talk to you!" She could hear Tom shout from the other side of the wood. Well, speak of the devil and he shall come, she thought.

Keeping herself silent, Hermione prayed that he would think that she was gone and leave her be. Instead, he kept pounding on the door, calling her name, getting more and more frantic. "Don't make me do this through the door." She was beginning to be afraid that he was going to break down the door as it rattled in its frame. "Hermione, come on, I know you are in there!"

Cringing, Hermione held her breath, wondering how long he was going to stand out there, making a nuisance of himself. She nearly gasped when she heard someone else walking into the hallway. "Oi, just what are you doing?" she heard her neighbor, Neville Longbottom ask.

"I'm looking for Hermione," Tom responded, his voice muffled by the door. She could practically see his jaw clenching in her mind's eye as he tried to keep hold of his temper. "I need to speak with her."

"Well, she obviously doesn't want to talk to _you_ ," Neville spat back at her, being so stupidly brave. Hermione prayed that Tom wouldn't do something to the other man, thinking that Neville was severely underestimating what Riddle was capable of. "Or she isn't here. So why don't you move along, rather than making a racket when other people are trying to sleep."

Again, Hermione listened intently, trying to determine what it was that was actually happening out there, wishing she could see. But, eventually she heard a sigh, some grumbling, and then one of the pair stomping down the hallway. Carefully, she crept to the door, hoping that none of the floorboards would creak under her weight. Straining to listen for any hint of who had won the battle of wills in the hallway, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Neville whisper to her. "It's alright, Hermione, he's gone."

She knew that he was waiting for some kind of response from her, but she didn't have the strength and her pride was too wounded for her to give any indication that she was actually there. It wasn't difficult to remember Neville's warning to her at the jazz club and wondered what he thought of her. No, instead, she would retreat, hidden away from the world just a while longer.

Lying in bed, Hermione wondered why she had to be attracted to someone like Tom Riddle. He'd swept into her life faster than a hurricane and left more damage than one behind when he was gone. Why couldn't she have fallen for someone nice like Neville Longbottom? He was tall, fairly good looking with dark blond hair. He was always friendly to her, and he made enough money to support himself. She was sure that they might have had a happy life together. At the very least, her life would have been much simpler. And she was sure she'd feel much less guilty.

* * *

It was two days before she finally left the apartment. She would really rather not, but she still had her exams, and she was determined to do well on them, heartsick or not. And, in order to do well on her exams, it meant that she was going to have to feed herself at some point, even if her appetite was severely lacking. She didn't go far - just to the little deli up the street - but she was feeling as if the world was trying to mock her with the fresh air, sunny skies and chirping birds. How was it possible for everything to seem so cheerful when she felt so miserable inside?

The worst of it was that she hadn't have anyone to talk to about the breakdown of the relationship - though, now that she was forced to face the truth, had it ever really been a relationship in the first place? She'd nearly caved the day before and sent Juniper a letter, but she burnt it before she could do anything stupid like post it. Not only was Juniper likely to think she was just a silly girl who had been too stupid to see the truth at hand, but there was no way that she wouldn't share the letter with Abraxas, which meant Tom would see it.

To her great relief, the delicatessen didn't comment on the absolute state she looked, all frizzy hair and great dark circles under her eyes, just happy to sell her some cheese and meat and a premade sandwich before she slipped out the door. But once she was outside, she was run into by a man, who reached out to steady her.

Evan Rosier was the last person that she expected to see, especially after everything that had gone down the week before. "Granger," he said, a malicious grin on his face, "aren't you the last person I expected to see here. And looking so terrible, too."

She wondered why exactly he was so happy, and told him as much. "And you seem far too happy for someone who was nearly murdered just a week ago. I would have thought you'd have slunk far away from the city by now." Trying to move past him, not caring to talk to anyone who even reminded her of Tom at the moment, she was stopped by his arm.

"It's divine providence that I might run into you today," he told her, not losing the pleased look, which had Hermione believing that whatever he wanted with her could not be good. "Now that my allegiances no longer lie with Tom, there is something I'm dying to tell you. No point in keeping him happy if I'm not."

Hermione's heart sank, thinking that he was likely to tell her about Tom's affair with Bellatrix. Had everyone known the truth but her. "I highly doubt that it is. And whatever you have to tell me about Tom, I couldn't care less - he and I have gone our separate ways," she insisted, trying to go the other way, only to have his hand shoot out and stop her.

He smirked at her. "Oh, this I think you will like to hear."

She hated him thinking that he knew her so well, and his lording this information over her only served to irritate her further. Wheeling around on him, she unleashed all the fury she'd been trying to bury the last two days. "Didn't you hear me?" she seethed. "Tom and I have gone our separate ways. That should make you happy, you awful man. Stupid little Hermione Granger was too _naive_...too _soft_ for this lifestyle after all. Now let me go!"

"I don't care that you've left...but I think you will want to know about the circumstances of how you met Tom in the first place," he told her.

Hermione stilled at his words and Rosier knew he had won in that moment. In the days she'd been holed up alone, she'd agonized over the chance that had brought Tom Riddle into her shop. Both Daphne and Susan had promised that they would keep the things she did for them to themselves, and they'd both seemed so sincere that she had given into it. But something must have happened if it caught Tom's attention. Looking up at Rosier's grinning face, Hermione felt anger bubble up inside her. Slapping the man against the chest, she shouted at him. "Well? Are you going to tell me or not?"

The man rubbed his chest, his good mood temporarily spoiled by her outburst. "Alright - Daphne Pucey is my cousin. When her husband became a problem for her, we told her that we would handle it for her," he said, his smile slowly replaced as he watched the words sink in. "Daph had heard of a chemist who could help you with that sort of thing from her friend, and Tom tracked her down. He wanted to _test_ you."

Hermione could feel her chest hammering against her rib cage, wondering just how she'd been caught by Tom in the first place. She'd thought she'd been so _careful_ , but then, these last few days had shown her just how reckless she'd really been.

"And do you want to know the best part?" Evan asked her with a laugh. "Adrian never even hit Daphne! Sure he was a little rough with her, but he never would have laid a hand to her face. Still wanted the asshole dead, so I suppose I should thank you for that."

She could feel her world begin to spin and took a step back from Rosier. The whole time, she'd comforted herself by telling herself the Susan and Daphne's husbands deserved to die because they'd hit their wives, but now she had evidence that she'd been played. Maybe she wasn't as good as she'd always thought she'd been. All this time, she'd been convincing herself that while she was breaking the law - yes - she was doing so for the right reasons. The worst was knowing how self-satisfied she'd felt.

Hating the look on Rosier's face while he laughed at her, clearly enjoying her anguish, she balled up her fist at her side. She was done letting men like Rosier and Weasley affect her so much. She knew now that if she wanted to make an impact, she would need to fight back. Rearing back her arm, she let her fist fly in a jab, catching the man across the jaw, sending his face to the side.

He looked stunned for a moment, spitting out a mixture of saliva and blood on the street. Hermione's hand was aching at her side, two knuckles bleeding from the impact, and she was surprised by just how much it had hurt her too. To her dismay, though, Rosier just started laughing at her harder, lips parted to show bloody teeth. Giving the laughing man one last look, she turned and ran the whole way back to her apartment.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! Oh my gosh, I am so nervous about this chapter...I am just so curious to see how you think everything worked out. You know that next chapter is the epilogue. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter twenty-one and be on the lookout for chapter twenty-two soon!

* * *

After her encounter with Evan Rosier, Hermione had felt that she had to keep looking over her shoulder every time that she left her apartment, which was unfortunately more frequently than she would like. Even though Hermione refused to see Tom Riddle or his ilk, she hadn't stopped attending courses at Tulane. He'd already paid for her semester of classes, so she wasn't going to just waste the money or the opportunity. It did make her feel guilty, but it didn't feel right to quit. In any case, she wanted to prove the other men in her class that she was just as good, if not better than they were, and she was going to do that by having the highest score on final exams.

Luckily, she thought she was finally getting it through Cormac's thick head that she wanted nothing to do with him outside of class, and he'd slowly been losing interest in her. Ron Weasley was an entirely different story, but she was comforted that she could stand up for herself if she needed to. Rosier scared her far more than Weasley did.

Trudging home from classes on evening, Hermione was already feeling a bit upset seeing as she wasn't properly attired for the rain that was coming down. Wanting to do nothing more than make some soup and tuck herself into bed with her books, she was absolutely dismayed to see that she had a visitor waiting for her.

With his back pressed against her door, a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, Hermione knew that there was no way she could avoid Antonin. "How did you find out where I lived?" she questioned sharply.

"I've known the whole time where you live, Hermione," he said with a soft grin on his face. "You haven't come by the warehouse. Why?" He moved aside to allow her to put her key into the lock, opening the door to her flat.

Rolling her eyes when he followed her in, Hermione for once didn't feel the least bit embarrassed about the state of her flat. Antonin wasn't a guest, he was an intruder into her healing. "You know why I haven't been by, Antonin. And I wish you would leave me alone, too."

He didn't do anything to hide the hurt and confusion on his face. _That_ did leave Hermione feeling more than a little bit guilty. Yes, of course Antonin had no blame in what Tom had been doing with Bellatrix, except that he'd never told her that she wasn't the only one in Tom's life. He knew how strongly she'd felt about the man, and really a heads up would have been nice to save her a bit of heartbreak. But, she also knew that relationships were much more complicated than just that in the gang. Additionally, she knew that Antonin was partially responsible for the erosion of her morals over the months. He was not a good man, either, and he had no qualms about drinking, stealing or killing.

"How can you ask that of me, Hermione? I've done nothing wrong," he insisted, pressing his hands on her shoulders, worry clear in his dark eyes. "You know that I care about you. You are like a sister to me."

Hearing the words was like a second knife in her heart. She'd often felt that her relationship with Antonin was rather like that of siblings, despite never discussing it with him. He was very protective of her, and she didn't doubt that he did care about her. To have him express that _now_ of all times, it was almost enough to suck her back into Tom's web.

Feeling tears form in her eyes, she felt herself wavering, before shaking her head no. "If you care about me, then you should let me go," she told him before biting her lower lip, watching the emotions wash over his face. "Yes, seeing Tom with Bellatrix hurt, but it also sort of helped...I don't know, shock me back into myself. All this playing around, distilling whiskey and running from the cops, robbing jewelry stores...it isn't me, Antonin. I am not that kind of girl. I am just glad Tom helped me see that before I did something I'd really regret."

Immediately, Antonin began to protest. "But Hermione, Tom wasn't with Bella-"

"Please don't try to sweep this under the rug for him," Hermione cut him off harshly, her shoulders drooping. Even if Antonin saw her as his sister, his first allegiance still was, and always would be, to Tom. "I'd like it if you left now please." She could feel a sob fighting its way out of her throat and she didn't want to cry in front of Antonin if she could help it.

He looked as if he was going to try and argue with her more, but the look on her face must have convinced him otherwise. "I'll go. But, Hermione, you know if you need _anything_ , you can always count on me," he said, before finally turning to leave her flat. The shutting door sounded very final.

Hermione was touched by the sentiment of his words, but at the same time she knew that it would be easier if she just had a clean break with the lot of them. If she continued to see Antonin, she knew that it would only be a matter of time before she crossed paths with Tom again, and she knew that she would be too weak to stay away.

Finally letting the tears overwhelm her, Hermione tucked herself in bed, all thoughts of soup and studying forgotten.

* * *

The day of her finals had finally come around, and Hermione walked out of her classes feeling confident. Of course, that didn't stop her from thinking through all of her answers, trying to pick them apart as she was certain Professor Snape would also do. She doubted that he would be giving out any perfect scores, though, so she tried not to take it too personally.

Excited to head home and the prospect of celebrating a bit by herself. She was looking forward to a few weeks of bliss while classes were done for the holidays, especially as it meant that she would have no reason to be bothered by Ron Weasley.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she would have to deal with him one last time before then, she thought, seeing him waiting for her at her trolley stop. Hermione was dismayed to learn Cormac's waning interest in her had only made Weasley more obnoxious, and his attentions had taken a turn for the physical. His lingering touches had been enough to get her to complain to Professor Snape, but the dour man had been unable to do anything more than keep them separated during labs.

"Come on, Hermione, when are you going to let me take you out?" He'd asked, letting his fingers trail over her cheek. She flinched and pulled back, only to have his arm snake around her middle. "Ah, ah, ah, not so fast." He whispered, pressing his smiling face into her hair.

Immediately, Hermione stiffened, and tried to duck out from under his arm, but was unsuccessful. "Listen, Weasley. I don't know what I have to do to get it through your thick skull that I will never go out with you. You have _no idea_ what I am capable of...but if you keep annoying me, you'll find out soon enough," she threatened, letting all of her anger from the past week bubble up inside of her.

Weasley turned to look at her, his blue eyes serious. "It's okay, Mione. Harry explained to me about what you were doing with Riddle," he said, caressing her cheek with his fingers, apparently undeterred when she flinched. "You can trust me. I can help you, and you'll never have to do those awful things again."

Stiffening at his words, Hermione was confused enough to continue talking to him. He obviously knew that she was connected with Tom, but it didn't seem to set him on edge like it should. Just who was this Harry and how did he know so many details about her. "Who is Harry?" she questioned, hoping he'd be stupid enough to tell her.

"Oh, you know, he's my best friend. He's on the police force," Ron boasted. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of Detective Harry Potter before? He's the youngest detective in City history!"

Hearing that name send a cold shiver down her spine. Immediately, Hermione renewed her struggling, pressing her hands against his arm, but she found that Ron's grip on her was too strong. She wanted to call out, wanted to scream, wanted someone to come help her, but she could do nothing but struggle helplessly in his grasp. Rearing back her free arm, wanting to clock him across the jaw the same way she had with Rosier, Weasley caught her wrist, laughing.

Before she knew what was happening, Weasley was being pulled off of her, his head snapping back as a fist met his cheek, before falling flat on his back. Hermione shuddered, hearing the crack of his skull as his head knocked against the pavement. Hermione gasped, turning to see who her savior was. She hated the traitorous little joy she felt to see that it was _him_ , to know that he had come for her.

"You will leave Miss Granger alone. She is with me." Tom said, his voice eerily calm.

Weasley must have recognized Tom, because his face turned an ashy color. Still, he hopped up from the ground, his nose bleeding profusely. Hermione was surprised to see him actually try to swing back at Tom, and gasped. Only, Tom was quicker, and infinitely more experienced in fighting. He took a glancing blow to his chin, but in the blink of an eye, he had Weasley pinned with a knife under his neck, the blade nicking the skin just above his adam's apple. "I suggest you leave before you make a decision you can't take back," Tom threatened. Weasley didn't need to be told twice - Hermione watched as he ran away, clutching his broken nose.

"I'm driving you home." Tom turned to face Hermione, his face momentarily distorted by anger. "How long has he been bothering you?" he snarled, furious, his finger pointing down the street.

"Since term started." Hermione said quietly, unable to meet his eyes, knowing that she'd _disappointed_ him. Without thinking, she let him lead her to his car, and she slipped in just as easily, feeling a bit numb.

Tom let out a breath, trying to control his anger, while he sped along the roads. "Why didn't you tell me that bastard was bothering you?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice sounding hollow. She was still in a state of shock, her mind wandering to what Weasley might have done to her if Tom hadn't shown up when he did. "I thought...if I ignored it, it would go away. And, in any case, it was my issue to handle." She said, her voice tight and annoyed that he thought she couldn't handle herself.

"It's my issue as well, Hermione," he said, his voice deadly serious, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

It was Hermione's term to snarl back at him, his entitled insistence snapping her back into the reality of the situation. Yes, he'd saved her, but she was still furious with him. "What _right_ do you have to know my business? I can handle myself just fine on my own," Hermione insisted, wishing that she hadn't gotten into the car with him in the first place.

Tom's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, trying to keep a hold of his anger. "You are mine Hermione, and I take care of what is mine," he growled.

"How can you even say that to me after I saw you with Bellatrix?" Hermione turned to face him, wishing that she could slap him across his smug face. She would never submit to being his if he wasn't hers as well. She was not going to be just one of Tom Riddle's many girlfriends. She wouldn't share him with Bellatrix, even if he was the last man on Earth.

He pulled into a parking space, tires squealing in an effort to stop in time. They had made their way across town in record speed. Knowing that this was her chance to get away from him, Hermione unlocked the door, but before she could get out, Tom was tugging her back in. Grabbing her jaw, he turned her face to look at him. "You think I _want_ Bellatrix? I was _threatening_ her. Telling her I never wanted her to show her face to me again. Christ, Hermione, you can be so bloody thick sometimes. You are a smart girl - use your head."

As much as she didn't want to believe a word that he was saying, she knew that it did make sense. She knew that Tom always seemed to hate Bellatrix's obnoxious attentions, even though the other woman couldn't seem to figure it out. Was it possible that he was telling the truth? Seeing that _look_ in his dark blue eyes, Hermione was positive that he was.

Her stomach sank, though, when she remembered the other issue. He might not be lying to her right now, but he'd still lied to her about Dumbledore. Knowing it would anger him, but needing to get away, Hermione stomped down on his foot. Tom released her wrist, and Hermione darted out of the car and up the stairs to her second floor apartment. Tom was hot on her heels, his booming steps echoing in the hallway. Breathing deeply, her hands shook as she slotted her key to get inside.

Hermione tried to slam the door in his face, only to have all her hopes dashed when he stuck his foot in at the last moment. Shoving his shoulder against the door, Tom was able to get in, only to lock it behind him. "We are not done talking," Tom insisted, crossing the room to see her. "I care too much about you to let Bellatrix Lestrange ruin our relationship."

Hermione stood there awkwardly, as though it wasn't even her own home, not knowing what to do. Her heart was nearly bursting from her chest at his words. It was the most she'd gotten him to admit about his feelings in all the months they'd been together. Not only was it a relationship to him, but he _cared_ about her as well. No matter how much she'd tried to kill her own feelings in the past week, she couldn't deny that she still loved him. She didn't know what to do.

"It's not just Bellatrix," Hermione started slowly. She could feel tears forming in her eyes as she reflected on all the hurt he'd caused her. "You lied to me about Dumbledore, too. You said that you weren't going to - I _told_ you I didn't want to be responsible for another death, but you knew that I loved you and you used my feelings against me to manipulate me into doing what _you_ wanted." By the end of it, she was pounding her tiny fists, beating him against the chest. She wasn't sure if she should be mortified that she'd revealed the depth of her feelings to him.

Tom's arms wrapped around her, holding her body tight to his. "I didn't mean it for him," Tom promised, his voice rumbling through her. His fingers gently carded through her hair. "You are right, I did make you go back on your word, but I meant it for Evan, not for Dumbledore. Bellatrix blew that plan to bits, but I still had the poison. I decided to use it to my advantage."

Pulling her head back to look at him, she considered his words. She supposed that it was an explanation, but she didn't know how reasonable it was. The brunette still didn't understand just what Tom's vendetta against Dumbledore was...or had been rather. "Yes, but why did he have to die? I know that he was...making changes, but he didn't do anything wrong!" she argued.

"Didn't do-" Tom cut himself off then, before taking another deep breath to calm himself. Letting her go, he walked to her kitchen to locate one her of her moderately clean teacups, before pouring himself some whiskey from his flask. Throwing it back in two gulps, Tom poured himself another shot. Turning to face her once again, he was grimacing when he finally spoke. "I've never told anyone this, but...do you remember that I told you a policeman took me away from my mother because she practiced voodoo?" Hermione nodded, already knowing where the conversation was going. "Dumbledore was that man. He always seemed to have it out for me, even when I was just a boy. When my mother died, I promised that he would pay for it...eventually."

"Oh, Tom," Hermione sighed, crossing the distance between them in two steps, before wrapping her arms around his trim waist. She pressed her face into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. She felt so awful for him, thinking of how scared he must have been as a little boy, and how awful it must have been. She still didn't condone what he'd done, but all of a sudden, she was able to understand why he'd done it. And...well, she didn't think she could begrudge him his vengeance either.

He cradled her jaw with one large hand, encouraging her to make eye contact with him. Tom didn't wait another moment to press his lips to hers, his tongue sliding along the seam of her lips until she yielded to him, pressing his tongue into her mouth. He was fierce and unyielding, and their teeth clashed together, but it was all consuming and she never wanted it to stop. She held onto him tightly, loving the way that he kissed her, desperately.

Hermione pulled him in the direction of her tiny twin sized bed which was unmade, but it didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was the connection between them, reforged and even stronger. Yes, she knew that he had his flaws, but she knew she had her own, too. She couldn't deny how _right_ it felt to be wrapped up in his possessive arms.

Tom seemed to understand what she wanted because the next thing she knew his hands were cupping her arse, lifting her to wrap her legs around his middle, pressing their cores together. Hermione moaned into him, feeling her skirt strain from the awkward position, but loving the feel of his hardness pressing against her. When he tipped her back onto the bed, he wasted no time in pushing up her skirt and pulling down her panties, while she scrambled to unbuckle his belt and push down his pants, eager to get to him inside of her, to make their connection more permanent.

There was no time to get fully undressed, and he surged forward, his finger testing her readiness and hissing and the hot wetness he found there. Later, she was positive she would be embarrassed by the way her body had hugged his digit while he used his fingers on her, or the way that she begged for him, but in the moment, she could think of nothing else but the desire to be full of him. She must have been inspiring enough with the rocking of her hips, because Tom was pulling away with a groan, only to position the tip of his cock at her entrance.

He pressed forward slowly, perhaps knowing that she would need to be handled with a delicate touch, entering her inch by inch, until he was fully seated in her. He gave her a moment to adjust, before pulling back nearly completely, only to surge forward again. As Hermione adjusted to him, he picked up the pace and ferocity of his strokes, until she was helpless to do anything but hold onto him, desperate fingertips searching for purchase on his back.

Their joining was fierce and wild and it left Hermione gasping, her face pressed against the collar of his shirt. Their bodies were sweaty due to exertion and the humidity, but it did nothing to stop them. He felt better than anything she could have imagined, filling her so completely and pressing places that she didn't even know existed, until a coil in her belly was winding tighter and tighter, chasing that delicious drop. He pressed his hand between their bodies, easily finding the button at the top of her sex that had her seeing stars. Circling it again and again, Hermione quickly found herself speeding towards the edge, his name on her lips. Then, she was coming undone, her body a pulsing with love and pleasure.

Tom's cry of completion was magic to her ears and she felt a kind of wickedness fill her body, and understand that she never wanted to forget. He might have her wrapped around his finger, but she was no longer blind to the power she wielded over him as well. He smiled at her - that disarming, charming smile - and pushed her sweaty curls from her face. "Please let me take care of you, Hermione."

"I'm yours." She whispered to him, gasping into the still air.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! When I set out to expand this one shot, I wasn't sure if there would be any interest or if it would turn out any good. All of your support as been so invaluable to me on this journey and really has me considering expanding other works. I just posted the first chapter of my next fic yesterday - it's called Oblivion and it's a Regumione. Please check that out if you are interested. Also, you can follow me on Tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answering questions. If you have any lingering questions about our favorite couple, you can send them my way!

Please let me know what you thought of chapter twenty-two!

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New Orleans, 1922

 ** _GRINDELWALD SENTENCED TO DEATH IN DUMBLEDORE POISONING_**

 _Gellert Grindelwald has been sentenced to death for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Former Police Chief of New Orleans. Chief Dumbledore was found dead later in 1921 and suspicion quickly fell on his close friend, Grindelwald, after evidence of a love affair was discovered between the two men._

 _A jury of twelve men conferred for less than one day before returning the judgement, which is seen as welcome closure after months of trial proceedings, which frequently devolved into nastiness between the Defendant and the State. Further complicating the matter was Grindelwald's former position in the Prosecutor's office._

 _Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been friends since their youth in Abbeville in Vermilion Parish. The pair moved to the City of New Orleans to attend University, where they were roommates. It is unclear of when their relationship became more significant than boyhood friends, but at some point, Dumbledore moved to New York City to continue his work as a Policeman. Earlier in 1921, Dumbledore returned to the City of New Orleans to take the position of Chief of Police._

 _As evidenced by the copious letters admitted into evidence, it seems that Grindelwald and Dumbledore resumed their torrid affair immediately upon Dumbledore's return to the city. The letters reveal much about the relationship - including that Grindelwald was prone to fits of anger and jealousy. The motive of the poisoning, by acute dose of arsenic, is still unclear, but it is thought that Grindelwald was likely scorned by Dumbledore for another man._

 _Grindelwald is scheduled to be executed by hanging on 22 November 1921, barring appeal. In the meantime, he will spend the last of his days in Angola prison._

 ** _SON OF PROMINENT GEORGIA BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEAD IN MISSISSIPPI_**

 _Evan Rosier the Third, son of Evan Rosier II, was found dead Monday morning in the Mississippi River. It appears that the body had been in the water for several months, and therefore, no clear cause of death is apparent at this time. It is speculated that the man might have fallen into the River further upstream, only to have drowned. Police are looking for a female companion that Rosier was said to keep during the time he is expected to have died._

 _Similar reports have come in saying that Rosier was seen walking with an unnaturally large man, thought by many to be a rougaroux, but the police have dismissed this theory as nonsense._

 _Rosier's father is well known across the Southeast for his massive orange orchards, which dominate the Georgian economy. He is thought to be the wealthiest man in the state, due to the lucrative pricing of oranges. When asked for comment, Rosier II declined, saying that he had no concern for his wayward son, whom he denounced as a scoundrel._

 _Looking at Rosier III's rap sheet, it is clear that his father is not far off the map. He has numerous charges of fraud up and down the Atlantic coast, as well as numerous other charges including battery, assault, adultery, larceny, trafficking and possession of a prohibited substance. It was thought that he was heavily involved in the bootlegging that seems to plague New Orleans._

 _Since his death, several women have come forward, suggesting that they have given birth to Rosier III's children, and are looking to collect against his estate. Surely, this will lead to lengthy court battles with Rosier's father, who has no wish to claim his son's misdeeds or body._

 _Should Rosier III's body remain unclaimed following medical examination, he will be buried at Greenwood Cemetery._

 ** _POTTER PROMOTED TO LIEUTENANT_**

 _Following the shakeup at the New Orleans Police Department following the death of Police Chief Dumbledore, the force has promoted Detective Harry J. Potter to the position of Lieutenant. Lt. Potter can now add youngest Lieutenant in City history to his numerous other accolades, including solving the robbery at the Dubois Jewelry Store last year. Potter was quick to determine that the robbery was an insurance fraud, seeing as the jewelry store owner could not account for the thousands of dollars missing from this safe._

 _Grandson of local businessman, Henry Potter, it seems as if Lt. Potter was meant to be a police officer since birth. He was well known in his school for being a very honest child, and holding his classmates accountable as well. He has had his fair share of scrapes on the job, as evidenced by the peculiar lightening bolt scar on his forehead, which he would not explain. According to colleagues, he frequently invents another humorous story to explain the facial scar, every time he is asked._

 _Lt. Potter is engaged to a Miss Ginerva Weasley, younger sister to his boyhood friend, Ronald Weasley. It is the intention of Potter and Weasley to wed later in 1922, though Lt. Potter would not reveal the exact date. Miss Weasley is said to be excited to begin hosting parties with the other wives of the police brass and to integrate with the New Orleans social society._

 ** _LOCAL PHARMACIST SELLS SHOP TO TEXAS CONGLOMERATE_**

 _Garrick Ollivander, of New Orleans, will be closing his pharmacy next month, following the sale to a Texas Pharmacy conglomerate, Real Drug. Ollivander's Pharmacy, which is somewhat of an institution in the dusty back roads of the French Quarter, has been in operation since 1887._

 _Ollivander cites his advanced age as his primary reason for selling. "Well, I'm not getting any younger, and I never had children who could take the shop over for me," Ollivander commented. "Though I suppose the generous offer didn't hurt either."_

 _Real Drug has been buying up properties all along the Gulf Coast, hoping to consolidate into one chain of stores, which will then be able to fill prescriptions at a lower cost to the customer. Based in Texas, it is owned by the Goldstein family, who have been in the pharmacy business since their arrival in America, several decades ago._

 _Regular customers of Ollivander's Pharmacy are encouraged to give Real Drug a chance once they have their grand opening in October. "We are committed to continue to serve the people of New Orleans with the same level of service that Ollivander provided," said Edward Goldstein. "[Ollivander] kept very meticulous records so we are sure that there should be minimal interruption of service."_

 _No job loss is expected, as Ollivander commented that he only had one employee who had already mutually parted ways with the pharmacy. "I only ever had the one shop girl, and she left a few months ago to pursue other opportunities," Ollivander added._

 _When asked what he expects to do with his time, Ollivander wasn't sure what he was going to do. "My life has been that pharmacy, so I admit that I'm a bit at a loss of what I will do. Maybe travel the world. I haven't left New Orleans since I was a boy."_

 ** _ABRAXAS MALFOY WELCOMES SECOND CHILD, DAUGHTER_**

 _Abraxas Malfoy and his wife welcomed their daughter, last Sunday at 2:30 in the afternoon. Ada Louise Malfoy, weighing six pounds one ounce, is the second child born to Abraxas. His son, Lucius, is aged 1. Both mother and child were said to be in good spirits and resting at home._

 _Abraxas Malfoy, the son of a French Lord, has played quite a role in the New Orleans social scene since his family arrived in Louisiana when he was a child. Known for his wild and extravagant lifestyle around town, he was married to the daughter of a Colonel four years ago. The Malfoys chose to keep their home out in the parish, though they are frequently seen around town._

 _Christening to take place next Sunday._

 ** _RIDDLE HEIR MARRIES_**

 _Heir to Riddle Shipping, Tom Riddle Jr, married Miss Hermione Granger last month in a small private ceremony. The pair only made their union known to the public, after returning from their honeymoon to Cuba earlier this week. The news came as somewhat as a shock, seeing as Riddle previously seemed to enjoy a bachelor lifestyle._

 _Little is known about the new Mrs. Riddle, or how the pair became acquainted, but she appears to have been born in New Orleans after the turn of the century to a surgeon. Mrs. Riddle's parents died when she was a young child, but this misfortune has not held her back. A student at Tulane University, Mrs. Riddle intends to graduate with a degree in Chemistry next May, a feat that many find surprising for a woman of her standing. Dean Severus Snape, of the Chemistry department, has no doubts about his student's capabilities though, insisting that she is very adept at the subtle art of science._

 _Mrs. Riddle also has made clear her intention to work in the medical examiner's office following her graduation as a consultant. Following new science coming out of New York City, Mrs. Riddle has developed a method to determine if a person has been poisoned with several common chemicals by inspecting the blood and tissue of a deceased person. If called on by the medical examiner in cases of suspicious deaths, Mrs. Riddle hopes that she will be able to shed more light on if poison was involved._

 _Tom Riddle Jr has expressed a desire to expand the vast shipping empire that his father created. Riddle stated that he intends to begin shipments up the Mississippi River, connecting all the way North to Chicago and Minneapolis. The route is well traveled by other shipping companies, but Riddle is confident that he will be able to make a meaningful impact on trade in the area._

 _The couple makes their home in the Garden District._

Trying not to shuffle the paper too much, so as not to wake her sleeping husband, Hermione read over the tiny article about her in the paper. She'd been used to making the society pages with Tom whenever he took her out on the town while they were engaged, but this was the first time that she was being acknowledged as his wife, and not just some floozy whose name the reporters never bothered to catch. It was a bit embarrassing to be quite so invested in what they thought of her, but she just couldn't help it.

Feeling Tom's large hand move from it's protective spot on her naked stomach up to cup her bare breast, she knew that it was too late and she'd already woken him up. Seeing the band of gold on his left hand - which was only too happy to tease her nipple into stiff little peaks - sent a shot of warmth through her body. Hermione couldn't believe how much her life had changed in just the one year that she had known Tom Riddle and agreed to be a part of his criminal empire, agreed to be his.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she said, her voice low in the morning light.

"What did you expect, returning to bed with cold feet?" Tom questioned her, and she could _hear_ the smirk on his face. Teasing, Hermione pressed her foot against his warm calf with a grin. He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck, sending a new kind of warmth through her body. "Did the paper get anything wrong about you?"

"I wasn't reading about me," Hermione lied. "I was reading about sweet little Ada." Just last week, Juniper had asked Hermione if she would be godmother to the baby, who was born with the most beautiful blue eyes are dark brown wisps of hair, just like her mother.

Tom didn't believe her for a second, and pinched her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. "Okay, okay, I was reading about us," Hermione conceded, pressing her body back into his burgeoning erection.

Considering the words that were written about her, Hermione found that the details were a bit sparse, but she didn't know that she wanted every aspect of her personal life up for public debate. They had covered the fact that she was still taking courses at Tulane, but didn't mention the considerable struggle it had been to gain respect as a woman in that department. At least all the boys in her class had gotten the message not to touch her when she showed up with an engagement ring on her finger.

She also was glad that they hadn't been able to scrounge up any details about their small wedding ceremony. Only their closest friends had been in attendance, and Hermione had been happy to have Antonin give her away. She thought the big Russian man might have been about to cry when he asked her, but she could think of no one else to do it once they had repaired their fast friendship. No, keeping the particulars private suited Hermione just fine, because it made the day all the more special to them.

The paper _certainly_ didn't cover the work that she did for Tom. It wouldn't be good to have it known that she was the largest supplier of whiskey, now in a three state area. While she still continued to distill alcohol for his gang to sell, that didn't mean that she'd turned a blind eye to the more nefarious aspects of his business. After a frank talk with Tom, Hermione knew that she'd never be okay with him killing people, so after the last time, she refused to prepare any poisons for him. It was a fight that they had regularly.

...It hadn't stopped her from leaving out instructions on calculating precisely how much arsenic was needed by approximate body weight to kill someone on the kitchen table. When it was gone by dinner time, Hermione wouldn't say anything to Tom and he didn't say anything to her either.

Tom brought her back to the present by nipping lightly at her neck, knowing that she loved the way it sent shivers up and down her spine. "Well, what's the verdict?"

Smirking, Hermione knew that Tom was just as interested as she was in what was written about him. Her husband could have the tendency to be terribly vain, and he never forgot the slights he perceived against him. Turning around in his arms so that she could look him in his dark blue eyes, Hermione pouted, pretending to be rather put out. "They spent most of their words _gushing_ over your plan to expand up the Mississippi," she told him, pushing out her lower lip. "They seem to think it's a smashing idea."

Tom leaned forward, catching her pouty lip between his teeth, giving her a playful nip, before encouraging her to lift one of her legs up over his hip, opening her body to him. "Well, there's no rest for the wicked, love," he teased.

Hermione could agree that if _anyone_ was wicked, it was Tom Riddle. He seemed to be the epitome of sin. But, Christ if she didn't love sinning.

She knew that things were only going to get more complicated that he was expanding his business up the Mississippi River. New territory meant new fights, new murders, new customers, but it had also triggered a bit of nostalgia in Hermione, to that time when she was just a good girl. She liked to lecture him on what the rules and the law said, but Tom broke down each and every one of her moral arguments, while he divested her of every bit of clothing. He kissed her all over her body with those _wicked_ lips of his and reminded her that he took care of what belonged to him.

Hermione found herself agreeing everytime because she was his.


End file.
